


Holding Something Precious

by Silvergray1358



Category: Pilgrimage (2017), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: 'miring, Ablist Slurs, AnVil, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Caretaking, Crimes & Criminals, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, David (The Mute), David's his knight in shining armor, Developing Friendships, Diarmuid in danger, Eventual Smut, Ex-soldier Billy Russo, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, Guilt, Gun Violence, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Modern AU, Mutual Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Robbery, Self-Doubt, Slow Burn, Sweet/Hot, Touch-Starved, Treating Wounds, Unprotected Sex, be warned, chatty Diarmuid, ex solider David, lonely Diarmuid, med student Diarmuid, nephew Diarmuid, shy David, uncle Ciarán
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvergray1358/pseuds/Silvergray1358
Summary: David took the job at the construction site to escape the ghosts from his past. His sins are numerous and unforgivable, but David's neighbor - a strikingly friendly and gorgeous young man named Diarmuid - doesn't seem to be afraid of him in the least. If he knew what was best for him, Diarmuid would stay away, and if David knew what was best, he would stomp out the gnawing, heady feelings for his sweet young friend before he acted on them.Easier said than done.
Relationships: Brother Diarmuid/The Mute, Jon Bernthal/Tom Holland
Comments: 72
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedMoon2000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedMoon2000/gifts).



> I'd like to thank Nergizka for the wonderful prompt! As soon as I read it, I knew it had to exist, lol. I made a few tiny tweaks but I hope it's close enough to what they hoped for. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd by the way. Sorry for any typos!

_‘Calmness of mind is one of the beautiful jewels of wisdom._ ’ David had heard that once but didn’t think anything of it until years later. By then, calmness of mind was hard to come by in his life. Calmness of mind was a fucking _joke_ after all the shit he’d seen, all the ghastly things he’d done with his own two blood-soaked hands.

Something about working the hammer at the construction site in Brooklyn Heights brought a sense of something that David guessed could come close to the calmness of his own turbulent, relentless mind. Just him, the hammer, and one cinder block wall after another until there was nothing left but crumbled cement and a hole where something used to be. 

_‘That’s the gimp. Don’t worry about him. He ain’t all there.’_

He swung the hammer again with such force it rattled up the bones in his arms and shook his whole spine. It was his third hammer in the last two weeks. The other two had shit the bed after a while, the heavy lead tops flying off with an incredible snap of the tired, abused handle.

_‘Retard loves that hammer.’_

_‘You know if they don’t ask you to work extra, they don’t pay you for it, right?’_

_‘You’re going to get hurt, gimp.’_

Day in day out, it was the same thing. At first, David let each comment roll right off his back. Those assholes were persistent though, and it didn’t take long for Lance’s goons to grate his nerves. David used that frustration to pulverize the cinder blocks to dust.

Often it was Lance’s voice which haunted him. That cocksucker would get in his head and get stuck on fucking repeat. A loop. Over and over, along with the rhythmic clunk of the hammer. 

_‘You don’t want me for an enemy, man_.’

Oh, if only Lance goddamn knew. If he knew how close he was to getting that fifteen-pound hammer embedded in his skull then maybe he’d change his fucking tune. Maybe not though. Guys like him liked to imagine that nothing could stop them. 

_‘You wanna do something with that hammer? You wanna do something? You wanna take me? I’m right here.’_

The wooden grip of the hammer grated his palms. The skin could only take the first hour before the burning started. Once the sun was fully up a few hours later, the skin would be red and flaking around the biggest of calluses on his palms, the skin already peeling away, but the pain was still low enough to hardly notice.

It wouldn’t be until well after lunch, the last few hours of the early-evening sun, that the old blisters would rip open again. It didn’t matter how well he wrapped them, and by the time the sun was set and he clocked out, both hands were sticky with blood and throbbing an echo of his heartbeat. The pain would be immense then. At least it gave him something to keep his mind on now that he didn’t have the hammer to distract him.

His place down in Red Hook was on the fifth and top floor of an incredibly shitty apartment building in an equally shitty neighborhood. Each floor had two identical apartments, A and B, and as David climbed the moaning wooden staircase, he listened to the blips of life loud enough to be heard through the measly walls.

A couple on the third floor had a blow-out yelling match every day and the scent of marijuana radiated throughout the whole floor. It was better than the stench on the first floor though, which reeked of cat piss. As soon as he came in off the sidewalk, he’d have to hold his breath until he passed the apartment door where inside was a constant chorus of yelling, unseen cats.

David dragged himself up the stairs, noting the usual howling of cats and slurred shouts from the fat meathead and his banshee wife as nothing more than ambient noise. He turned up the last flight of stairs and his heart skipped in his chest.

Each landing had one window between apartment doors. The windows were foggy with years of grime and barred up like every other building on the block, but they at least let in some light during the day. On the fifth floor someone long ago had placed a small daybed underneath the window. It was nothing more than an ancient padded bench really, but that didn’t stop the boy who sat there every day, tucked up on a nest of mismatched blankets reading textbooks.

David saw him immediately but dropped his gaze, pretending to be oblivious to his presence. 

The kid could have been in his twenties, but then again, he looked so damn young with his mop of bronze hair and huge brown eyes. Either way, he was certainly too young to be living by himself, but David had never seen anyone else from 5B. Not once since he moved in two months ago.

He had no intention of getting chatty with the neighbors and the curious look the kid gave him every night when he got home made David nervous in a way he couldn’t truly justify to himself.

Tonight, was no exception. The kid heard the stair boards creak under David’s boots and lowered the massive book he was reading, watching David shuffle up the last few steps. David held his breath and dug out his key from his back pocket.

“What happened to your hands?”

David tried not to visibly flinch. 

“There’s nothing wrong with my hands.” His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. He didn’t look back, just slipped his key in the hole and unlocked his door.

“You’re bleeding.”

He opened the door but stopped. He should just go in and leave the kid with his questions.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“This isn’t the first time.”

He finally glanced over. The kid was watching him, and his gaze felt heavy on David’s skin.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated.

“Open sores, especially on the hands, can lead to deep tissue damage, blood poisoning and other types of infections. Real gnarly stuff.”

“You hear that on the T.V. or something?” 

“I’m studying to be a nurse,” he replied, lifting the book on his lap so David could see the title, _Fundamentals of Geriatric Nursing._

“Oh…”

The kid closed his book and leaned forward. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“No.”

“Then come on. I have one inside.” He unfolded his legs and stood, and David shook his head and lifted a hand to stop him.

“That’s very kind but—”

“But nothing. It’ll only take a minute.” He didn’t bat an eye, just opened his door and waited.

This wasn’t how his night was supposed to go. He should just go inside and bolt the four locks on his door like he always did. He should just wash his hands in the stained porcelain sink until the water ran clear, then wrap them in gauze like he usually did, before making a sandwich for dinner and lying down in bed where he would of course, toss and turn for hours.

“Just a minute,” the kid repeated, a soft plea. His voice was gentle and breathy, like he was speaking to a dear friend, yet he knew nothing of David. If he did, he probably wouldn’t dare be speaking to him, let alone be inviting him inside his home. It was nice though, _strange and enticing_ , and shocking enough that David changed his mind despite himself.

“...Alright.”

“Great. Come on in then.”


	2. Chapter 2

“It’s not much but it’s home.”

Diarmuid closed the door behind the man, who stepped in but didn’t go far. 

“Here, let’s sit in the kitchen,” he offered, leading the way. “It’s got the best light.”

The man said nothing, so Diarmuid filled in the silence for him.

“That room there’s the living room, my room’s down the hall there across from the bath. My uncle’s room is this one here, and this… is the kitchen, although I’m sure you could have guessed.”

The man nodded, lingering in the kitchen doorway.

“Take a seat,” Diarmuid said, pulling out a beat-up wooden chair for him at the table. “I’m going to grab the first aid kit. Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks.”

“Fine, I’ll be right back.”

Diarmuid went down the tiny hall and fetched the kit from the bathroom. He heard the chair scrape on the linoleum and a part of him still couldn’t believe that he had gotten his mysterious neighbor to speak to him, let alone come inside. 

First aid kit in hand, he came back down the hall and took the opportunity to take in the details of the man’s features where he sat, making the small kitchen table look dainty compared to his incredible size. He was massive, that was for sure, and heat pooled in Diarmuid’s stomach the more he took in. The man’s hair was long and beginning to curl at the ends by his ears and the base of his neck, reminding Diarmuid of the style some hipsters liked to wear, but the locks looked silky and he had a matching full black beard that was dense and curly, showcasing the strong lines of his face. Even the crooked shape of his nose fit the intimidating look that radiated off him from dark brown eyes under a heavy brow.

Diarmuid sat beside the man, in the one other chair, and settled in.

“Can I see your hands?” he asked. He put his own hands out and the man reluctantly reached over, like he thought Diarmuid’s touch would burn him. The man’s hands were wrapped in bloodied gauze, desperate for a change. Diarmuid began peeling the layers away, being careful around the sticky, dried parts.

“How did this happen?”

“Work.”

“Work?”

“Yeah. Work.”

“Hmm…” It seemed this guy wasn’t budging. “What do you do for work?”

The man darted his eyes to Diarmuid’s, his fingers twitched in Diarmuid’s palms. “Just construction.”

“Oh, have you done that long?”

“…No.” It was a clipped answer, a dead end, but that was fine. Diarmuid wasn’t giving up that easily.

“What’s your name?”

The man straightened his back and squirmed in the chair. He didn’t pull his hands away though, so Diarmuid continued.

“You don’t have to tell me, you know, but it’d be nice to finally meet our neighbor.”

“Our?”

“Me and my uncle, Ciarán.”

“I’ve never seen him.”

Diarmuid nodded. “He works over at the homeless shelter in Park Slope. Strange, long hours. Like you.”

“Oh, I see.”

The last piece of gauze fell away and Diarmuid saw the open sores on the man’s palms and fingers. There were multiple blisters, some old and some new. It must have taken a long time to accumulate so many.

“I’m going to disinfect these. It’ll probably hurt quite a bit,” Diarmuid warned.

“That’s fine.”

“Just let me know if you need a break.”

The man laughed suddenly. His chuckle was deep and baritone like his voice. “Okay, sure,” he said, like he found the idea amusing.

“All right, tough guy. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took a little square packet out of the kit and ripped out the alcohol wipe. “My name is Diarmuid, by the way,” he offered.

“Diarmuid?” the man repeated, his Brooklyn accent thick yet pleasing as he tried to wrap his tongue around the name.

“Mmhmm, Diarmuid.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“It’s Irish.”

The man nodded. “…It’s nice.”

Diarmuid hadn’t expected that, and it made butterflies flitter in his stomach.

“And um…” the man continued, “My name is David.”

“It’s nice to meet you, David.”

“Same.”

David didn’t flinch when Diarmuid ran the alcohol wipe over each wound. He cleaned each spot meticulously, making sure to get all the dried blood and to disinfect all the way down to the wrists. David’s hands were enormous and intensely warm. Where there weren’t blisters, there were calluses. They were the hands of someone who had worked hard their whole life. 

“I’m going to re-wrap you up, just give me a second.” Diarmuid stood and went to the sink, washing the tiny spots of blood off his fingers.

“You don’t need to,” David argued.

“I don’t leave things unfinished.”

“If you insist.”

Diarmuid turned the tap off but the roll of paper towels by the sink was empty. He reached up, standing on his tippy toes, to grab a new roll from the top cabinet. “I do insist,” he said, glancing back to David as he reached.

David had turned and was looking at him. His eyes dragged down Diarmuid’s chest, his stomach, and down the length of his legs. He caught Diarmuid watching him and snapped his head back, shifting in the chair with a sharp inhale through his nose.

Was David… checking him out? The look was so quick, so fleeting, that Diarmuid could have been imagining it, but that pooling heat in his stomach came back twice as strong. He had seen other men give him that look, on campus, on the subway, at the supermarket. Not that he had ever acted on those quick glances before. He had never dated anyone, let alone dared to approach some stranger he caught checking him out. 

He looked down at himself. He was wearing a pair of black joggers, a little big on him now after the bit of weight he lost the past few months. His tank top was old, and the bottom rode up his pale flat stomach as he stretched. He pulled the roll of paper towels down and smoothed the shirt back down to cover the bit of exposed skin, ignoring the stiff way David sat in the chair, refusing to look at him.

Diarmuid sat again and took David’s hands, not bothering to ask this time. David’s eyes darted to his own for another moment, but he dropped them to their hands as Diarmuid got to work unraveling the bandages and wrapping his palms. David said nothing and Diarmuid let the silence stay, not wanting to push him too much. The silence didn’t bother him.

“That should do it,” Diarmuid finally said, letting David’s hands go once he finished. “Just make sure you change the bandages again in the morning.”

“I should go,” David said, not skipping a beat.

“You can stay if you want. I have leftover lasagna in the oven if you’re hungry.”

“No, thank you.”

“It’s really no big deal. I’m done studying for the night anyways.”

“That’s very generous of you, but I should really go.”

“Okay.” Diarmuid tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. It would have been nice to have some company, even the kind as quiet as David.

David stood from the table and Diarmuid reluctantly followed. He trailed behind him but couldn’t think of anything to say. He was distracted by the differences in their heights now that they were both standing again. It was dizzying the way David dwarfed him. They got to the front door and David stopped to turn around.

“Thank you,” he said. “Really.” He shuffled his feet and wrung his bandaged hands. It was odd, the man was the size of a moose and yet he acted as skittish as a feral cat.

“Well, if you ever get hurt at work again, I’d be happy to help.”

“Yeah, let’s hope not, huh?”

It was a shame Diarmuid hadn’t been able to convince him to stay. All these weeks of watching him come home after dark, exhausted and bloodied. Burning curiosity had nudged at Diarmuid, seeping into his thoughts late at night while he tried to sleep. He thought he had managed to break the ice, but apparently David had ice thicker than a lake in the dead of winter.

“But, uh…” David said. “Maybe some time I’ll take you up on that leftover lasagna.”

Diarmuid tried to keep his smile tucked away but it tugged at the corners of his lips regardless. “Please do. Anytime.”

David nodded. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

David turned and closed the door behind him, leaving Diarmuid alone in his entranceway smiling to himself. Maybe he had made a crack in the ice after all.


	3. Chapter 3

The dreams always felt too real. David had never believed that people could have such incredibly vivid and deceptively real dreams, dreams that could drive a person damn near insane, until he started having them for himself.

Dreams of a wife…a family…long ago. _Jesus_ , so awfully long ago now.

Time didn’t stunt how painfully real the dreams felt. Every night they’d come back. Maybe he’d get three or four hours of sleep in at a time, but those good nights were few and far between.

David sat up in bed. It was still dark out, and he leaned over to check the time on his watch. Four-oh-seven. The sun probably wouldn’t be up for at least another fifty minutes. 

Trying to go back to sleep would be useless. He decided to get dressed and head down to the site early. It wouldn’t be the first time, and working the hammer made the dreams feel less real again.

He made a pot of crappy coffee and chugged a cup down with a grimace. With two turkey sandwiches in his lunchbox, he unlocked the deadbolts on his front door, took a step, and froze.

The kid—Diarmuid, he reminded himself—was sitting on the daybed reading another textbook. Their eyes met over the top and David’s throat felt tight.

“Hi,” said Diarmuid. He was wearing the same tank top from last night. The left side was threatening to slip off his shoulder and David couldn’t help but stare at the lines of his prominent collarbone. 

“What are you doing up so early?”

“I always wake up around this time. Sometimes I come out here in the morning if I’m not rushing through homework before class.”

“Oh.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m going to work.”

“Those are some long hours.”

“I’m going to work early.”

“Try to take it easy on your hands then, all right?” That small, friendly smile was back on Diarmuid’s face, and it was still just as warming and nerve-racking as it had been last night. It was like Diarmuid knew that it could cut right to the lonely parts of David’s heart and make itself comfortable there. He had no right to sound so concerned for David’s wellbeing.

“Yeah, I will. See ya around.”

“See ya.”

He made his way down the stairs. His commute to work was unmemorable, but he kept playing the sound of Diarmuid’s voice in his head the whole way there.

***

David found himself standing in the miniscule Chinese restaurant on Wolcott Street, crammed between a tall fridge stuffed with soda cans labeled in Mandarin and a pair of standing-only tables along the front window, wondering for the umpteenth time what the hell he was doing.

“Here you go, sir,” said the thin young woman working behind the counter. She slid over a stapled-shut paper bag.

“Thank you.”

“That’ll be twenty-four seventy-five.”

“Keep the change,” he said, handing her thirty.

“Thank you. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He took the bag and headed out, making his way to home. He had passed that Chinese restaurant almost every day for two months, but this was the first time he had stopped. A crazy thought had gotten into his head at work, just before lunch, and it took hold. Bag in hand, he couldn’t believe that he had actually gone so far as to stop, yet some Chinese food wasn’t a do or die commitment. He could change his mind anytime. He told himself that again and again, just to keep the nerves away.

He got to his apartment building and climbed the stairs, his heart beginning to race. He got to the top floor and couldn’t decide if he was happy, or disappointed.

Diarmuid wasn’t reading on the daybed like he was last night.

_Just go inside and lock your door, pick at some of this ridiculous Chinese food, and forget this stupid plan completely._

The weight of the bag in his hand brought home the reality of what he was doing—loitering on the landing like a terrified kid, getting spooked over nothing. He’d be a coward to get this far and turn around with his tail between his legs.

Without another thought, he stepped up to Diarmuid’s front door and knocked. The seconds ticked by like minutes. Eventually though David could hear light footsteps creak the floorboards on the other side of the door right before the doorknob twisted and the door swung open.

Diarmuid answered the door and the sight of him stole David’s breath away.

He was nearly nude, only a thread-bare towel wrapped around his narrow hips. His skin was wet and shiny, water droplets falling off the long edges of his bangs and from the jut of his shoulders. The wet trails caught the light and drew attention to the tight planes of his chest and skinny waist. He looked lithe and small, too thin, but stunning like a marble statue carved by a master. An angelic being caught in form. 

An embarrassing rush of blood pooled in David’s groin.

“Hey,” said Diarmuid.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s okay,” Diarmuid assured. “What’s up?”

“I thought that I owed you a proper thank you after last night. I uh…picked up too much food and thought that maybe you’d like to help me eat it.”

“Yeah, that sounds great! Come on in. It’ll just take me a second to get dressed.”

“Sure, of course.”

Diarmuid turned and left David to step inside and close the door. Diarmuid left for the small hallway towards his room, leaving David alone to get a good look at the living room. Theirs was just as small as his own yet Diarmuid and his uncle had been able to bestow some cozy life to the place unlike him. His own apartment was hardly more than wooden walls and linoleum floor and nothing else.

There was a low navy-blue sofa that looked about two decades old at least. A boxy television set, probably just as old, sat across the room. A shaggy gray rug covered the floor but despite being a little worn-thin in spots, it looked to be clean and spotless like the rest of the place.

There were a smattering of framed pictures hanging on the walls and resting on delicate side tables. All the photos were essentially the same—an older man with graying hair and a boy, not even old enough to be a teenager. The boy he figured to be Diarmuid, judging by the same bronze-colored hair that curled the longer it got. The man was most likely the uncle Diarmuid mentioned. He looked to be in his fifties or early sixties, and that was in some of the oldest of pictures. His eyes looked soft and kind, and he and Diarmuid were always smiling big, over-the-top grins, at the beach or on a picnic blanket at the park or whatever moment in time.

He finally made his way to the kitchen, placing the bag of takeout on the table and looking around again. The kitchen was just as quaint. David felt a twinge of embarrassment thinking of Diarmuid seeing his own apartment, to see the prison cell he resigned himself to instead of a _home_.

That’s what it felt like here. A home. The sea-foam green tiles above the kitchen sink, the ancient ivory Frigidaire huffing away in the corner, the shiny porcelain spoon-rest on the counter and the decorative hand towel on the oven handle…all those things reminded David of the apartment he had grown up in with his mother. One of the many that they had bounced around in as a kid before she passed. It was indeed a similar place, one that brought back those same memories of Sunday breakfasts and evening dinners after her late shifts at the cleaners.

Diarmuid walked into the kitchen and David almost jumped in surprise. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard Diarmuid’s footsteps, as light as they were, but Diarmuid didn’t mention his brief fright if he had noticed it. He carried the first aid in his hand and put it on the table next to the takeout. 

“Before we eat, may I see your hands?”

“My hands?”

“Yes,” he said with a chuckle. “I want to see how much damage you did to them today.”

“Not much, I swear,” David promised, yet he still sat with Diarmuid and let him take his hands again.

“I hope so.” He began to unwrap David’s hands with diligent tenderness. There wasn’t nearly as much blood as last night and the bandages came off easily. “These are looking better already.”

“I told you,” he said. He couldn’t help but smile and Diarmuid looked up in time to catch it, returning it back two-fold.

“Well, I’m glad you took my advice then.”

“It helps to have a nurse as a neighbor.”

Diarmuid laughed and shook his head. “I’m not a nurse yet.”

“What kind of, uh…field do you want to work in.”

“I want to be a home health nurse. I want to be able to help people live as comfortably as they can, even out of a hospital.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

Diarmuid quirked an eyebrow at him, reaching for an alcohol wipe from the kit. “Noble?”

“It’s not easy. Taking care of others.”

“It’s worth it though.”

From David’s experience, there weren’t many people in the world that felt the same. People could be cruel. They only cared about themselves. Selflessness was a rare trait, and Diarmuid was certainly a rare individual.

Diarmuid went through the same routine of meticulously cleaning David’s hands with the alcohol. Each blister stung as he cleaned them, but the pain was nothing really, and this seemed important to Diarmuid, so he sat happily for him. 

Satisfied with his work, Diarmuid started re-wrapping his hands.

“Just about done,” he said. “We clean these every day like this, and soon they’ll be good as new.”

 _Every day?_ David knew he should say something. He hadn’t meant to put Diarmuid out like this, not every day. He shouldn’t have even come back again tonight.

“There!” Diarmuid tucked the end of the last bandage in and let go of his hands. “Now that you’ve indulged me, how about we eat?”

“Sounds good.”

Diarmuid washed his hands and got them some plates. They dug out the food from the bag, a rather large assortment of dishes that David had picked at random. Even so, the food was delicious and they both tucked in, even getting second-helpings. It was nice to see Diarmuid eat so much. He was too skinny. His uncle really needed to make sure he ate more often, that was if he ever dragged himself away from work.

Diarmuid chatted endlessly the whole time, filling the quiet that David still wasn’t used to filling himself. He talked about school, his uncle, the dog he stopped and petted at the park the other day, the woman on the subway who was knitting a pair of socks, _anything_ , not that David minded. Sometimes though, between new thoughts, he caught Diarmuid giving him a peculiar, soft look that David didn’t know how to interpret. He’d glance up from his fried rice and see it on Diarmuid's face, his heart skipping a beat each time, but then again it could have meant anything. It was probably just that innate curiosity in Diarmuid that he was coming to discover.

Boy, did Diarmuid ask _a lot_ of questions, though he never pried too hard when David gave him a poor excuse of an answer. Sure, sometimes David didn’t hold anything back and answered truthfully, to an extent, but Diarmuid seemed to learn that he wouldn’t get too far with questions about David’s past life before moving to Red Hook.

Either way, Diarmuid would eventually find some new topic to discuss and the heavy moment would be gone again, if it really had been there at all to begin with. Maybe David was just seeing things he wanted to see. Unlike the way everyone else in the city saw him, he liked the way that Diarmuid looked at him.

Once all the orange chicken and crab rangoons were gone, the two of them completely stuffed, Diarmuid began to yawn.

“I think it’s about time for me to go,” David said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s been a long day. For both of us.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Let me help you with the dishes first.”

“No, no, no. I can do it. You brought the food, I’ll do the dishes,” he said. “I’ll walk you out first though.”

They reached the front door and Diarmuid opened for him, letting him out onto the landing.

“Thanks for dinner,” Diarmuid said. He leaned against the door frame, his body relaxed and sleepy, and he tipped his head against the wood.

“It was the least I could do.” He had genuinely wanted to return the favor, the kindness Diarmuid had extended so easily, but at the same time he was well aware of his own selfish reasons. Something about Diarmuid was so inviting. A warm flame that could draw a lone moth from far away in the darkness.

“I was thinking…” Diarmuid started, “that maybe dinner could be on me tomorrow night. If you’re around.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Same time? I make a pretty decent mac and cheese if I do say so myself.”

David knew he should kindly decline. One night of indulging in Diarmuid’s company was one thing, but this felt like a slippery slope that could be too easy to spiral down. Diarmuid was smart, generous, and the first person in a long time that David enjoyed spending time with. Yet, he had to remind himself that getting close to Diarmuid could be dangerous. Nowadays, people who got too close to David got hurt in the end. It was inevitable. He had been trying lately to stay clean of all that toxic shit he had been sinking into ever deeper, like quicksand, but did he want to risk it?

“It’s just,” Diarmuid added, “the nights get kinda lonely around here. It’d be nice to have somebody to talk to. Watch some TV, share a good meal with…”

“I think I’m free tomorrow night.”

“Great! Then see you tomorrow then, David.”

“Sleep tight.”

“You too.”

David unlocked his door and Diarmuid gave him one last smile before he closed it, sliding his deadbolts into place. He wondered if Diarmuid and his uncle had similar locks. He’d have to check tomorrow night. A lot of scumbags lived around here and the thought of keeping Diarmuid safe made him feel protective in a way he figured he didn’t have a right to.

He had no right to have earned Diarmuid’s trust and company either, yet he still had to admit it was nice though…

To have a friend.


	4. Chapter 4

Diarmuid made his way home from classes, his backpack full of textbooks only adding to his exhaustion, but overall he felt good. It was finally Friday, and the week had been stuffed with a mountain of homework and too many tests to be considered fair. Now he could relax though, at least for two days before it all started over again.

On top of it being Friday, he had dinner plans with David again tonight, which was exciting enough to keep him going despite the long day. David had joined him for dinner every night for the past two weeks. At first it had been difficult to sway him into it, but little by little he took hardly any convincing at all. Somehow, the two of them just clicked. Maybe it was Diarmuid’s imagination, but David seemed not to mind how he had a tendency to talk too much, or how he wanted to treat David’s hands every day even though Diarmuid knew he could have done it himself if he really wanted to.

The few minutes each day David let him tend to his hands were some of Diarmuid’s favorites though. Something about it, the intimacy of hand holding maybe, made Diarmuid start to crave the moment when David would stomp up the stairs after work and knock on his door with his shy gaze. He liked taking care of David, and he liked how David let him.

He was the last block away from his apartment building, thinking about what they were going to eat for dinner tonight, pizza maybe from Famous Greco’s down the street, when something heavy like a charging bull crashed into him from behind and knocked the breath out of him. He tumbled, powerless to the brute strength of the impact, and spilled into the mouth of the alley he had been walking past. 

He hit the pavement hard, scraping off the top layer of skin from most of his palms when he tried to catch himself. He heard the rip of his jeans on his right knee and felt a bright flash of pain ricochet up his leg as he whammed his kneecap.

“Get up,” a voice behind him ordered.

Diarmuid twisted his head around and found a heavy man looming over him. The guy was huge, well over twice Diarmuid’s weight, and his round stomach stretched the waistband of his bleach-stained sweatpants. He wore a black sweatshirt that was thick despite the early summer heat and he had the hood up. His sweaty, stubbly face peeked out and a pair of nervous, beady eyes stared at him. He leaned down and at first Diarmuid had the impression he was bending over to help give him a hand up, but he only grabbed the strap of Diarmuid’s backpack and yanked him up with shocking force.

“What are you—”

Before he could finish his question, his feet barely underneath him again, the man slammed him back against the brick wall. The back of his head hit the bricks and his teeth clacked together. The man grabbed Diarmuid’s arm, his meaty fingers crushing his bicep, and he flipped Diarmuid around until his cheek pressed into the rough bricks.

“Don’t fucking look at me,” the man growled. Diarmuid tried to jerk away but the man shoved his massive frame against his back and kept his painful grip on his arm.

“Let me go,” Diarmuid snarled.

“Give me your wallet.”

“What?”

“I said give me your _fucking wallet_.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he pleaded. “There are ways to get help if you need it.”

“What fucking part of give me your goddamn wallet don’t you understand?!” He pulled a fist back and rabbit-punched it twice into the side of Diarmuid’s stomach. They were fast but perfectly aimed and the breath was knocked out of him again. He gave another attempt to pull away, but the man was too strong.

“Please, don’t…”

“Give it to me now.”

“Don’t do this. I don’t even have that much.”

“I don’t care,” he said, shoving Diarmuid harder into the bricks. The corner of one of them scraped Diarmuid’s cheek in a searing flash of pain. Fear and panic were beginning to really settle in. This man was desperate and had the upper hand. Diarmuid could start screaming and pray that someone would hear him before his guy beat the shit out of him but chances were he would just get mugged anyways. Why hadn’t he been paying attention as he walked? Maybe he could have seen the guy following him and ducked inside somewhere. Too late for that now.

Suddenly the mugger made a strange, gasping yelp and the press of his body disappeared from Diarmuid’s back. He was in shock for a second before he thought to turn around from the wall.

 _David_.

Like a ghost, neither of them had noticed a sound from him until he was yanking the mugger away. The combination strength and surprise of it flung the man back easily, the mugger’s feet tripping up. He rolled an ankle and threw a hand out to stop himself from falling headfirst into the bricks. He didn’t fall on the ground, but he came damn near close.

“Who the fuck?!” he bellowed, as if he could scare this new stranger away by screaming. He wasn’t going to get away that easily though. David surged forward and slammed a shoulder into him like a linebacker taking down an opponent.

The man scrabbled at David’s arms and back in confusion before he got with the picture and swung his fist at David’s head. It connected with David’s ear and the _thunk_ of it sounded terrible. David’s ear immediately began to bleed but hadn’t even flinched, like it was nothing more than a lover’s tap.

David’ knee flew up and he nailed it into the mugger’s stomach. He groaned out a surprised cry and tried to curl in on himself, but David grabbed a fistful of the front of his sweatshirt and yanked him up.

He pulled an arm back and hit the mugger square on his jaw. It was instantly effective, like flipping a light switch. The man went completely limp and was unconscious before he even hit the ground, laying sprawled on the filthy pavement. David took a step over him, his hands still in tight fists, and his eyes were still burning with that dark intensity.

“Wait, stop!” Diarmuid reached for him and grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Stop. He’s out.”

David huffed, his chest heaving. His eyes were trained on the man on the ground. “He deserves worse than that.”

“If you hit him like that again, you’ll kill him.”

David finally looked at him and something in his face changed. Whatever was boiling under the surface dissipated, leaving him with a look of vacant shock. Had the thought of _not_ killing him even crossed his mind? Would he have stopped if Diarmuid hadn’t pulled him out of it? He’d seen that look on men before. Veterans down at the shelter, men with thousand-yard stares and too many ghosts behind their eyes.

“Come on.” He gently tugged on David’s arm again, urging him back another step. Then another. David followed him onto the sidewalk, and they made their way to their building. Diarmuid kept his hold on David’s arm the whole time, not tugging any longer, but just keeping his hands there to help ground him.

They reached their landing and David came to a stop. Diarmuid let his hands fall away and broke the silence.

“You’re bleeding.”

David nodded. “So are you.”

“Come inside.”

“All right.”

Diarmuid got the first aid kit and he realized it was the first time he ever needed to use it on himself. It could have been far worse though. He could have needed an ambulance instead of some rubbing alcohol and Band-aids.

David was sitting at the kitchen table and his hands were clenched into fists on the tabletop. Diarmuid tried not to startle him as he came up behind him and placed the kit down. Sometimes, very rarely, David would startle like he had been so deep in thought his defenses had gone down temporarily without his permission. He would tense up as stiff as a board, his fight or flight response set off, and he always reminded Diarmuid of a rattlesnake about to strike, willing to protect itself if it needed to.

Apparently, he hadn’t been wrong.

He sat down and grabbed an alcohol wipe to clean the blood off David’s ear. He had to lean in close, their knees brushing together as he shifted over.

“This is going to swell up pretty bad I think.”

“It’s nothing some ice can’t fix.”

“Maybe… At least it didn’t split.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Diarmuid tossed the wipe over into the trash bin and sat back down with a long exhale. He grabbed another wipe for himself and began disinfecting his palms where matching streaks of scratches stung and smarted. He looked over at David and raised an eyebrow.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” David sat in silence, watching him scrub the shallow scrapes on both his own hands, so Diarmuid stopped. “Was it the army?”

David shook his head. “The Marines.”

“How long were you a Marine?”

“Sixteen years.”

“That’s a long time.”

David reached over to the kit and plucked out another wipe, ripping it open as he scooted his chair closer.

“Hold still a minute,” he said. He reached over and used a hand to touch Diarmuid’s chin, holding him in place. He started wiping at the scrape along Diarmuid’s cheek. The alcohol stung worse on his face than his palms, but David’s hands were so gentle in comparison.

Diarmuid did his best to hold still for him, his back ramrod straight. He tried not to watch David’s face, but it was hard to draw his eyes away from him. If only he could figure David out. What was this fragile, new relationship to him? Did he feel the same magnetic energy between them that Diarmuid could feel? Was it possible for David to feel anything other than friendship for him?

He didn’t know, and he was apprehensive to make a mistake in judgement and ruin what they had going. Was he brave enough to take the risk?

“Are you okay?” David asked. It was like he could read Diarmuid’s inner turmoil on his face.

“I am now. Thanks to you.”

David’s eyes softened, still holding Diarmuid’s face even though he seemed done cleaning off the blood. He took his time looking at him, making a shiver run down Diarmuid’s spine.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he replied.

“I am. I promise.”

David pulled his hands away and Diarmuid almost stopped him, but he didn’t. “As long as you’re safe now.”

Truth was, Diarmuid had never felt safer.


	5. Chapter 5

David woke from a dream—that much he was sure of—but it hadn’t been one of the many iterations of the same nightmare he was used to. It had been…pleasant. Something warm and easy and already beginning to fade away like all slippery, good dreams did.

There had been darkness, and while he couldn’t recall seeing anything, he had felt cozy bed sheets underneath him and something radiating relaxing heat beside him.

 _Someone_.

But the bed beside him now was cold and empty, and had been for a very, _very_ long time.

Stranger still, he was hot and needy between his legs, the stiff line of his cock lying on his stomach, the tip pressing against the waistband of his boxers by his hip.

While it wasn’t entirely rare for him to wake up in such a state—biology didn’t always seem to care what mood he was in—what _was_ strange was for him to find himself slipping a hand under the thin sheets and starting to massage the length of his prick over his boxers. Typically, he’d hop into a cold shower and not even think twice about it again. Yet, this morning felt different.

It was the dream. He was still clutching at the tiny details as they slipped away like water through his fingers.

The darkness, which had been so great and consuming it had its own pressure, like a heavy cocoon… The enchanting warmth, seeping in from slender limbs tangled with his own… A silky pair of lips against his, teeny puffs of air ghosting over his lips with each ticklish little gasp between lazy kisses…

He slipped his hand under his waistband and finally took himself in his fist. His palm was searing hot and he sucked in a quick breath at the intense heat. His whole body felt warm, like water slowly coming to a boil. Little bubbles forming at the bottom and dancing to the top.

It had been a long time, but he still knew exactly what felt best to get the job done. Being in the Marines for sixteen years taught a man how to become good friends with his right hand. That was when you got the moment to take care of business. Quick, efficient…like a sniper’s shot.

It was too easy to let the motion of his fist bring him relentlessly to the edge, imaging a pair of chocolate brown eyes under heavy half-lidded eyelids flickering up to his, running his fingers through strands of soft bronze curls. It only pushed him there faster, making him spill across the back of his hand and onto his stomach and sheets embarrassingly fast. Tremendous bursts of pleasure whited out the rest of the world for a few glorious seconds, but all good things came to an end, and now David was left lying in a mess in his sweltering room which had grown incredibly warm while he was sleeping.

Guilt started to settle in, but before he could let the usual terrible thoughts get a hold, he got up to change the sheets and take a quick shower before work. He didn’t _have_ to work on Saturdays, but he liked to and really what else was he to do.

He had actually managed to push all thoughts of his earlier quick indulgence out of his mind by the time he drank his morning cup of black coffee and made his lunch. It had been nothing. Completely nothing at all. At least, that’s what he told himself as he headed for the front door with his lunchbox in hand. 

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

He came to a stop a few feet away and all the familiar first thoughts flew through his head—available exits, nearby items he could improvise as weapons, different close-combat moves he could use depending on how many men were standing on the other side of the door.

He crept closer and held his breath as he checked the peephole. He let it out with a relieved huff and unlocked the bolts to open the door, mentally kicking himself for jumping at old ghosts.

There was Diarmuid, standing on the landing and leaning a hand against David’s door frame.

“Hey, good morning,” he said. He was still wearing his pajamas, a loose pair of basketball shorts and a worn-thin white t-shirt. The scrape on his cheek had scabbed over. Their eyes met and instant paranoia washed over him like somehow Diarmuid _knew_ what he had done earlier, but that was ridiculous. Right?

“Good morning…”

“You off to the site?”

“Yeah.”

“I just wanted to catch you before you left, and uh…see if you wanted to have dinner over my place tonight? I was thinking pizza maybe. My treat!”

If there really was a God, he had to be laughing at David right now. He was a sick fuck like that. Of course, he’d dangle the very thing he coveted right in front of him, reminding him of all the reasons he was supposed to say no. David had never been good at doing what God wanted, however.

“Sure, all right.”

“Cool! I’ll be waiting then.” He pushed off from the doorway and flashed that stunning smile that David was beginning to miss when Diarmuid wasn’t around. Work actually felt like it might drag on today. It was inevitable when such a lovely face was waiting at home for him.

***

Everything was perfect, but Diarmuid ran through his mental checklist again to kill time.

He had gotten changed earlier to go out—into his nicest pair of skinny jeans and his favorite black t-shirt that read Skillet across the front in now faded, block letters—so he didn’t have to worry about that.

The dining room table was adorned with everything for the perfect evening. His laptop was set in the middle with Netflix on standby. There were paper plates, napkins, and glasses placed on the side. He had already gone out and picked up two pizzas and a jug of lemonade which completed the table.

David could eat a lot if he felt like it, but who could blame him? The man was built like a grizzly and had the work ethic of a draft horse apparently. Even so, he always made sure to interject a ‘ _keep eating’_ between snippets of their conversation when Diarmuid accidentally ran his tongue for too long without taking a bite, and he liked to point out that his uncle should make him eat more during the day. It was sweet though. He liked those little moments when David let it slip how much he cared. It had taken a long time to thaw all that ice.

That’s why tonight he had put in extra effort to make sure things were exactly right. He wanted to properly thank David after all.

Right on cue, seven-thirty on the dot, David knocked on his door which Diarmuid was grateful. Tonight, he probably would have driven himself insane waiting around.

At first it was like nothing had happened yesterday. Diarmuid played the charming host and David was ever polite while they poured drinks and made plates, and yet… the longer they ate the more Diarmuid realized how wrong he was.

He tried asking about David’s day at work, about the rain that seemed like it was going to pelt the city tonight, about _anything_ he could think of to clear the air, but nothing worked. David was as quiet tonight as he had been the very first night Diarmuid had been brave enough to say something to him. Something was lying heavily between them, stealing the air, and Diarmuid couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room any longer.

“Thank you again,” he tried. “For yesterday.”

That made David drop his eyes, shifting on the couch. “You don’t have to thank me for nothing.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Consider me well thanked then.”

“Well, I… I really appreciated your help.”

“My help, huh?” David shifted again, like he was dreading talking about this, which Diarmuid could understand. David’s eyes darted over to his arm and he tracked his gaze to the handprint-shaped bruises on his bicep, peeking out from the bottom of his t-shirt sleeve.

“You still got hurt. Look at ya,” David said, reaching over to run his thumb across the bruises, barely touching them. “Look at your face.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. David only scoffed and looked off, but Diarmuid wasn’t done talking about it yet. “I kept replaying the whole thing over in my head today.”

“You could have been in a lot of trouble. Gotten seriously hurt.”

“I know.”

“You need to be more careful,” he chided, shaking his head. “He was dangerous.”

“Yes, I know.”

He looked Diarmuid straight in the eye. “And getting close to me is even more dangerous.”

“The way you were in the alley—”

“Were you afraid?”

“I was only afraid until you showed up.”

“I could hurt you too.”

“You wouldn’t.” Really, like David was about to do _what_ now? Mug him for twenty bucks or rob his place of its thrift shop furniture? That was absurd.

“You don’t understand,” David argued. His brows were furrowed and there was a deep-etched frown forming on his face. “Some of the shit I’ve done… I’ve got plenty of people who’d be happy to see me dead. Those kinda fucking people? They won’t stop at hurting innocent folk to get to me either. They’ve fucking done it before, and they’ll do it again. There’ll always be something terrible coming for me. The world’s a piece of shit, Diarmuid. Goddamn more than I hope you’ll ever have to find out… Too goddamn much, and—”

“Hey.” Diarmuid leaned over, putting a hand on David’s knee and the other on the side of his neck, effectively shocking him mute. “There’s still some good in the world, too.”

Diarmuid could hear the breath catch in David’s chest, they were that close, and he used his hold on David’s neck to pull him ever-so-closer. David’s beard was thick and tickled the inside of his wrist. He felt the mighty cords of muscles along his neck twitch under his fingers. David swayed nearer, staring at Diarmuid’s lips in a way that made the base of Diarmuid’s spine tingle.

“It’s not all terrible,” he continued, barely a whisper. “It doesn’t have to be…”

God, their lips were so close now. All he had to do was lean just a little bit further until…

David turned his head away and stood so suddenly, Diarmuid was left leaning into the empty space where he had just been. To his surprise however, David just stood there, like he didn’t know what to do next. So, Diarmuid didn’t hesitate to stand up with him. He put a hand on David’s shoulder to turn him enough so he could reach for him and pull him down, standing on his tippy toes to press his whole body against David’s huge frame and seal their lips together.

David’s arms wrapped around Diarmuid’s back, massive as they encircled him. His beard was a bit scratchy in a way Diarmuid instantly enjoyed and thought could be rather addictive given the chance. The kiss could have lasted for a second or a whole minute, it was nearly impossible to tell when there was such an overwhelming number of fantastic details to try to savor.

David pulled back, just an inch, to suck in a breath and Diarmuid pressed their foreheads together. He clung to the front of David’s black cotton button-up, keeping as much of them in contact as possible. It was his turn to be surprised when David leaned in and stole another kiss, this time licking along the seam of Diarmuid’s lips until he opened up for him and their tongues—holy fuck— _finally_ entwined in the heat of David’s mouth.

Diarmuid’s heart was pounding all the way up in his throat; his head was spinning. He let slip a teeny moan—he couldn’t help it with the smooth way David licked into his mouth—but the sound broke whatever spell had been controlling the moment.

Suddenly David pulled back, holding Diarmuid away at arms-length. 

“I need to go,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Please, don’t. I’m sorry. I won’t—”

“Good night,” he interrupted, letting go of Diarmuid’s arms and slipping out of the living room before opening the front door. Just like that he was gone, leaving Diarmuid standing like a complete idiot by the couch, tears threatening to slip from his burning eyes. He wrapped his arms around his stomach but still felt hopelessly lost all at once.

“Great work,” he said to himself. “Really great work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this one! The next chapter will be up tomorrow =)


	6. Chapter 6

The construction site had an eerie, haunted feeling after dark. Bare bones of steel in a massive half-built skeleton. A few men were still around when he first got there, unloading the last of a delivery truck, but by the time midnight came and went, he was the last person there.

Again.

He went to work on the same wall that he had left a few hours ago. The hammer sat rested up against it, mocking him when he found it.

_Didn’t take you long this time, huh, pal? What are you running from tonight?_

He tossed around the idea of getting drunk. He could just head over to the closest bar, ask the bartender to pour him a shot of Jack Daniels and tell him to keep ‘em coming. It had been _years_ since he had a drop to drink however and he wanted to get shit-faced drunk, but that was a terrible idea too.

Back to the hammer then.

He was actually tired today. One of those rare days where the exhaustion finally caught up. The tank wasn’t just empty, it was running on fumes. He still swung the hammer though, and he was grateful for the deep burn in his muscles. Maybe he’d get some sleep tonight.

Regardless, nothing he did was enough to get Diarmuid out of his head. _Jesus_ , and he was certainly trying his best.

It was hopeless. The memory played back endlessly and each time a different detail would make David’s mouth dry, this heart race, and his temperature rise a degree.

Diarmuid’s hands fisting the front of his shirt, his short fingernails scraping his chest… The heated press of Diarmuid’s body slotted against his own, small and thin and so very precious-like in David’s arms… The feeling of Diarmuid’s breath rushing over David’s lips, sweet like the lemonade and something else enticing, before he had brought their lips together in a demanding press…

David was a man with a mountain of sins, and surely bringing someone as kind and innocent and altogether _pure_ like Diarmuid down into his radius of Hell was another sin on top of the rest.

But for the fucking life of him he couldn’t stop savoring that brief yet monumental kiss. He cherished it like a drowning man cherishes oxygen. It had been a blip of something good when David had resigned himself to be an exile to such things many years ago.

A crack like a nearby bolt of lightning boomed and the head of the hammer splintered off, the whole handle snapping almost completely down the entire length. David let the pieces fall from his hands and heaved air into his tired lungs.

Well, fuck. The rest of his energy rushed out of him like a deflating balloon. Perhaps he should just sleep here for the night. He could curl up on a less dusty spot of cement and be able to get an early start once the foreman strolled in at four. That was still three hours away though, and the idea was cowardly. He had to go home sometime. 

Better to face the music.

***

He tried his best to make his steps as light as possible despite his exhaustion. It was late but the building wasn’t completely quiet. A rogue cat meowed, and a few televisions were still playing, not that the noise was going to stop David from falling asleep the minute his head hit the pillow.

He dreaded climbing the last flight of stairs, but he knew he had to.

Diarmuid was dead asleep on the daybed despite the noise drifting upstairs. A textbook was closed on the blanket next to his head and his arm was hanging off the edge so far, his fingers grazed the floor. The door to Diarmuid’s apartment was cracked open and the light in the entranceway was on.

David felt like dirt. Diarmuid had probably sat here all night, waiting for him to come back so they could talk, like he had been too afraid to do. He would put money on it. Diarmuid had that streak of bravery in him, dangerous but noble.

David got closer and took a knee, placing his hand on Diarmuid’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered. Diarmuid hardly stirred, his eyebrows scrunching together before smoothing out again.

David sighed and stood back up. He got an arm under Diarmuid’s bent knees and under his shoulders. The kid couldn’t have weighed more than one-twenty and it took nothing to scoop him up.

He pushed the door open and tried not to jostle Diarmuid too much as he went. He brought him down the tight hallway to the door Diarmuid had pointed out weeks ago was his.

He flicked the light switch and glanced around Diarmuid’s room for the first time.

It was small, but incredibly neat. There were plenty of schoolbooks crammed into the bookcase and the closet door was open revealing a slew of t-shirts, sweaters, and winter coats hanging inside, but everything was tidy and in its place. 

The sheets on Diarmuid’s bed were made with crisp neatness, like David himself had been taught in the Marines. He lowered Diarmuid onto them, making sure his head rested on the pillow. He shifted on the bed for a second but then fell still, his face relaxed and sweet in sleep, making David regret taking so long to come back.

He wished he could say he was sorry. He wished he knew what the right thing to do was. He thought he knew, but now? Diarmuid had come into his life and made it warmer, happier, and now the line was so fucking blurred he had no goddamn clue what he was supposed to do. 

But it would start with talking to Diarmuid tomorrow.

He backed out of the room and hit the switch again, taking one last look at Diarmuid sleeping peacefully on the bed. He tried to be quiet on his way out, being careful not to walk into a stray piece of furniture in the dim light from the entranceway, and he almost closed the front door before he spied the textbook on the daybed. He figured he’d better bring it in as well, lest some asshole decided to nick it.

As a matter of fact, had Diarmuid’s uncle gotten back from work yet? Why would he let his nephew sleep out on the landing? He looked like a smart guy in the photos, he should know better.

David took the book and brought it inside, putting it on the couch. The table was still a mess how they had left it and he felt another wave of guilt. He turned around and came to a stop. The door to Diarmuid’s uncle’s room was cracked open. There was a tiny glow of light leaking out and David inched toward it.

He knocked gently on the door, but there was no answer. He nudged the door open and glanced inside. Ciarán’s room was just as neat as Diarmuid’s. A thin bed sat in the far corner with a heavy banged-up hope chest at the foot. A tall oak dresser was across the room and a couple small picture frames rested on top. The wallpaper was old and a dated shade of sky blue, and a single delicate crucifix hung on the wall above the bed.

Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. David stepped inside and the air was stale, like the door hadn’t been opened for a long time. No one slept in here, breathed in here, _lived_ in here.

He didn’t touch anything, just the light switch on his way out.


	7. Chapter 7

It took David’s sleep-muddled brain a while to realize what had awoken him, even as he sat up and winced at the bright light pouring in from his window. What time was it? Had that been…knocking he heard?

He got up, panic setting in, and headed to the front door. He almost got there when he heard the knocking again and he realized it wasn’t on _his_ front door. Someone was knocking on Diarmuid’s, and he heard through the thin wood when the door clicked open.

“Hello…” Diarmuid said. It was soft and shy. The sound of it made David miss him terribly.

“Hello, I’m sorry to bother you so early,” a man said. His voice was smooth, charming and polite, like a salesman.

“It’s all right.”

“My name is Billy Russo. You don’t know me, but I knew your uncle. He was a very dear friend of mine. I hadn’t seen him in a while and when I went down to the shelter, they informed me he had passed. I’m so deeply sorry.”

“Thank you.”

 _Passed_? That would explain the untouched room. David’s heart broke a little, thinking of how Diarmuid had said he was lonely, hiding the fact just _how lonely_ that really was. He had no one else in the world, just like him.

“So, I figured I would come down and visit the nephew that Ciarán had always spoken quite fondly of. Offer my condolences.”

“Oh, I see…”

“Would it be all right if I came in? Just for a few minutes?”

“Um, sure. Please, come on in.”

“Thank you kindly.”

Of course, Diarmuid let him inside, ever courteous. David thought about stopping them but realized how crazy that was. All he could do was wait, and he was going to pull up a chair and wait until this Billy Russo left. 

***

“Thank you for the hospitality, um… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Diarmuid.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Diarmuid.”

“Same to you, Mr. Russo.”

“Please, just call me Billy.”

“All right, _Billy_ ,” he said, leading him towards the kitchen. He looked back and there was a playful smile on Billy’s face. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any coffee or tea…”

“It’s fine.”

“I think I have some orange juice in the fridge.”

“That would be lovely.”

“Please, take a seat.”

Billy undid the button on his suit jacket and sat down at the kitchen table, in the same seat that David usually did. Diarmuid tried not to glance over every few seconds as he got them glasses of juice, but Billy didn’t seem to notice as he looked around the kitchen.

“This is a very nice place you have here.”

“Thank you. Here…”

“Oh, thanks very much.” Billy took the offered glass and sipped it before placing it down. “I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this.”

“No, no, it’s no trouble.” Diarmuid took a seat next to him and Billy didn’t bother to hide the way he ran his eyes over his body while he sat. He had changed into his pajamas after waking up in his bed sometime around two in the morning. He didn’t remember going back inside, but he must have at some point, and he was still in his shorts and white undershirt. He wished that he had thought to throw a sweater over his tank top before he answered the door. “So um, how did you know my uncle?”

“I met him a long time ago,” Billy said, staring down at the table, his brows furrowed. “When I was fourteen. I was living on the streets. An orphan.”

“I’m so very sorry,” Diarmuid whispered.

“Thank you, but it’s all right. Long time ago, like I said. I had bounced around a few foster homes, but they never lasted long, and eventually I was on the streets. I was lucky I hadn’t been picked up by some gang, or the junkies that were always offering a free first taste. But then I met your uncle, and Ciarán was the first person who ever treated me right. He was an honest-to-God good human being, through and through.”

“Yes, he was. Uh, may I ask… How did you find me here?’

“Of course. I own a company here in the city, a privately funded military contractor. I simply had my men look up Ciarán’s last known address, and…voilà. Here you were.”

“I see. So, you run a military firm?”

“Yes,” Billy said, nodding with a small smile. “I joined the military once I turned eighteen. Ciarán’s idea, actually. He thought it would be a good release for…my restless nature in my youth. It turned out to be the best decision I ever made. Served a couple tours overseas. A few in Iraq, one in Afghanistan. And after that, I took what I knew best and created Anvil, my company.”

“That’s very impressive.” Billy had apparently come a long way from the streets. That went to show just how much a person could turn themselves around, that nothing had to stop them from finding someplace happy in their lives.

Just look at Billy. God, the guy looked like he walked off the set of a photoshoot for a men’s fashion magazine. His impeccably tailored suit and sparkling gold cufflinks with matching tie clip screamed money. His stylish black hair was slicked back, and his strong jaw was offset with dark stubble that was still just as trimmed and proper as the rest of him. You never would have been able to guess that this was a guy who had a rough start in life, let alone lived on the streets a day in his life.

“They told me,” Billy began, “At the shelter, that it had been stage four lung cancer.”

“Crazy, huh? And he had never even touched a cigarette his entire life.”

“That must have been terribly difficult… Taking care of him in the end.” Billy reached over and placed his hand on top of Diarmuid’s, a kind gesture that suddenly had tears prickling at the corners of Diarmuid’s eyes. It wasn’t the offered sympathy from a compassionate, handsome stranger that had him suddenly so close to the edge of tears, but it didn’t help either.

Of course, it had been hard. So fucking hard, and some days it had hurt so bad he had thought his heart was going to break and the tears were never going to stop and he would die a slow, long death, just like Ciarán. Yet, he was still here. He hadn’t died from sorrow, though some days still felt just as difficult as it had been that first night he had come home from the cemetery to an empty apartment.

The one good thing that had taken away most of that pain had been David, and Diarmuid had gone and fucked that up royally last night. He pulled his hand away from Billy’s and quickly rubbed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “But he went peacefully in the end.”

“I’m glad to hear that. He deserved as much.”

“Yeah…”

“I’m sorry to bring up such painful things.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s nice to meet someone else who knew how kind he was.”

“That he was,” Billy nodded. His stared at Diarmuid, his gaze lingering a little longer than was perhaps necessary, and the intense way he stared made Diarmuid feel as though he was being analyzed.

“Well, I appreciate you sparing a minute to talk,” Billy said, taking another sip of his juice. “I should get going however.”

“Sure. No problem. I’ll walk you out.”

Billy stood, straightening out his suit and redoing the button on his jacket. He moved with easy grace, like a cat, and there was a touch of eeriness in the thought. Diarmuid could only imagine how Billy would fight in the heat of war. He had to be damn good if he was this successful back home.

Diarmuid opened the door for him but Billy turned around on the landing.

“It was nice to meet you, Diarmuid. You remind me a lot of Ciarán. You have that same kindness that he did. You don’t see that often nowadays.”

“Thank you. It was nice to meet you, too.”

“Maybe…you would like to go out to dinner with me sometime? I would love to continue this conversation, though I would like to find out more about _you_ next time.”

“Oh,” Diarmuid said, laughing a nervous chuckle in surprise. No one had ever asked him out before, and Billy was bold and confident as he asked. That sly, playful smile was back on his face and Diarmuid could already feel the blood rushing to his face. “Um… I have a lot of schoolwork this week. Finals coming up.”

“Then maybe sometime soon. To celebrate after finals week. It wouldn’t have to be much, just drinks if you’d like. Think about it.”

“Okay… I’ll think about it.”

“Great.” Billy reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a business card, handing it over with another dashing smile. “Here’s my number.”

“Thanks.”

“I hope to see you again, Diarmuid. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

Billy turned and made his way back down the stairs. Diarmuid stood in the doorway and watched him until he was gone, then stared at David’s door. He knew he should go talk to him. He had tried last night but eventually couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He could go over and knock on David’s door again, but maybe he wasn’t home yet. Even if he was, what was Diarmuid going to say? Any thoughts he had last night sounded stupid in his head now.

He turned around and went back inside. Maybe after some homework and cleaning up he’d have a new plan. 

***

David stood in his kitchen and paced back and forth, practically wearing a rut into the shitty linoleum floor. He couldn’t stop, not when frustration was making his skin crawl.

_Maybe you would like to go out to dinner with me sometime? I would love to continue this conversation, though I would like to find out more about you next time._

God, watching Billy through the peephole, on the landing with his expensive suit and salacious grin, had made him want to barge out there and throw Billy back out onto the sidewalk. Yet, he wasn’t dense either. He knew he had no right, not after pushing Diarmuid away last night. He remembered the way Diarmuid looked sleeping on the daybed, bruised and scratched, but still so damn optimistic about the world. He remembered the feeling of Diarmuid light and relaxed in his arms, completely at rest. He remembered the shocked, sad look on Diarmuid’s face as he shoved him away.

That’s why he was furious. He was mad at _himself_.

He was livid, fuming, and more than anything else, jealous. That was the simplest way he could put it.

So, what the hell was he going to do about it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone so much who liked or commented so far! I have changed the chapter count after expanding my outline I had. I really hope everyone's enjoyed it up to now and will stay tuned for more very soon! <3
> 
> Also...can I just say how much I love Billy? Such a great character, he really needs some more love, lol. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short compared to the next one so I figured I throw this one in today as well =)

When Monday morning came, David was relieved to head back to work. The weather was hot, the air thick and heavy with sticky humidity, but it didn’t bother him in the least. He put his head down to work and didn’t look up once until the lunch bell rang.

He took his lunchbox and thermos and headed up to his spot on the roof. There was a perfect place behind the stairway where he could sit in the shade and stare out towards Manhattan where the Hudson met the East River and both drifted out to sea. A cool breeze blew sweaty strands of his hair off his forehead as he sipped coffee from his thermos.

The metal door to the stairway banged open and two men came out, walking over to the south side of the roof.

“I feel like I’m going to die, it’s too fucking hot down there.”

“You think Reynolds was trying to kill us. If I have to work another shift with the torch, I’m going to call my fucking lawyer.”

“You don’t have a lawyer.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Bullshit.”

They sounded like Lance’s goons, Joey and Rico. They weren’t too particularly smart, just like the rest of the dickwads that worked here and hung around Lance like flies on shit. He could hear the flicking of lighters and figured they were up for a cigarette. Either way, they hadn’t seen him behind the stairwell, and they would probably be gone in a couple minutes.

“Hey, have you heard of that place over by midtown? It’s some sort of secret sex club. Real hush-hush kinda joint,” a guy said, Joey by the sound of his voice.

“Naw. What’s the name?”

“I can’t fucking remember. Adonis? I don’t know. Some fucking Greek name.”

“Greek?”

“Or Roman. Same shit.”

Jesus, what a pair of idiots. David couldn’t help but roll his eyes, taking another sip of coffee. How long did it take to smoke a cigarette, for Christ’s sake?

“Anyway,” Joey continued. “You’re still coming with us tonight, right?”

“What?”

“Are you kidding me, man? The hit? Remember?”

“That was tonight?”

“Yes! Come on, Lance needs you to drive the car again.”

Jesus, stupid didn’t even begin to cover it. He knew Lance’s gang were a bunch of lowlifes but apparently, they all shared the same I.Q. point, taking turns. Discussing their shitty heist out in the goddamn open? Running their mouths without even checking who could be listening? It’s a miracle they hadn’t been busted yet, but it was only a matter of time.

“I still don’t understand what we’re supposed to be getting out of this,” Rico argued. He coughed, and David could smell cigarette smoke on the breeze. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Joey asked. “There’s _big_ money we could score. Bigger than the last two put together!”

“Your cousin’s a fucking liar. What asshole thinks that a homeless shelter has piles of cash, just…spilling out of safes, ripe for the plucking.”

“Not cash you idiot.”

“Then what?”

“Four times a year the place gets a shipment of pharmaceuticals. I’m talking morphine, codeine, oxycodone, and all that grade-A, good shit they keep to treat the fucking junkies that come in.”

“So?”

“So, my cousin says that _today_ is the day they get their shipment. A hundred-grand worth of the cleanest high you will ever find on the streets. He leaves us a way to sneak in, we nick as much shit as we can carry, and then we sell it for twice the amount.”

“What about the people in the shelter? Security?”

“He says that at that hour, there’s just a few on guard and everyone else will be asleep. We take out the few guards with a silent pistol and then we’ll be home free. If anyone else gets in the way who fucking cares? No one’s going to miss some street scum.”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“Just meet us at Vinny’s tonight at midnight. Once we’re all there we’ll head over to Park Slope and park the car behind that teeny pawn shop next door to the shelter.”

“All right, fine.”

That caught David’s attention. Park Slope. Wasn’t that the name of the shelter Diarmuid said Ciarán had worked at?

Shit.

“Hurry up, man,” Joey said. “I gotta go take a piss.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m done.”

The gravel crunched under their boots as they stomped their cigarette butts out on the rooftop. They slammed the stairwell door open and were gone, none the wiser to David at any point. Big mistake fellas. It looked like tonight he might have to get his hands dirty again. He knew those assholes were no strangers to petty crimes but dumb shit like stealing from other gangs was a different matter entirely from stealing from a shelter and murdering innocent people.

He couldn’t let this one go. Plus, truth be told, he had wanted a reason to put Lance in his place for a long time.

Tonight, was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have snuck in a teeny little plug for my steamy lgbt novel, entitled The Beauty Beneath, coming out in September. I couldn't help myself ;) you can read an excerpt over on Pride-Publishing dot com if you're curious <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience on this long ass chapter. I had to frantically work on it in between helping my mom clean up around the house *phew*. I managed to work overtime on this one though ;)

Diarmuid sat on his couch, watching the muted television without really seeing anything. There was nothing on to watch, he didn’t feel like reading any of the books he had out from the library, and he had given up scrolling through his phone hours ago. He had too much on his mind.

All day in class he had thought about Billy’s business card, like it was burning a hole in his wallet where he had put it. After all, Billy had seemed polite, charming, and of course, _very_ handsome—which was the perfect reason to take him up on that drink, right? Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about David? About the feeling of his rough hands as Diarmuid cleaned off the blood, about the rare moments he would catch David off guard over dinner and manage to get a laugh out of him, or about the _perfect_ moment when David kissed him back with a hunger that matched his own and still made his toes curl in his shoes when the memory drifted its way back through his head?

He knew that David had meant that kiss. He had felt it. Now, he needed to fix things between them.

Waiting sucked. Never mind waiting to do something he was dreading. His nerves were getting frayed and he was losing more and more confidence in what he was going to do, but it was just about that time when David came home after work. Any minute now. That was if he _was_ coming home.

On cue, shockingly so that Diarmuid almost didn’t believe it when he heard it, David came stomping up the stairs to their landing with his usual heavy, tired steps. He paused at the top and Diarmuid held his breath. After a few seconds, he heard the clicking of a lock, and a door opened and closed shut again.

David didn’t knock on his door. He just went inside and that was it. Diarmuid’s heart dropped to his stomach.

No, that was fine. He wasn’t going to let all this waiting go to waste. The night was still young. He would just give David some time, get settled, and then in a bit he’d head over and knock on his door until David _had_ to open it and talk to him.

That was the plan. He watched the clock tick by another twenty minutes then stood up, wiping his sweaty hands off on his jeans. His heart was racing, but he used that energy to propel his feet out the door. He took three deep breaths and then knocked on David’s door.

Heavy deadbolts slid behind the door, more than a couple, then it cracked open. David peaked out and he looked so tired, bags under his soft eyes. He nodded when he saw Diarmuid, like he had been expecting him.

“Come in,” he said, not even waiting for Diarmuid to get the nerve to talk. He opened the door and Diarmuid realized he had caught him out of the shower this time, a wet towel in one hand and wearing a pair of black jeans he’d never seen him wear before, but nothing else. His massive chest was bare, and his long hair was damp and slicked back.

David turned around and led them inside, leaving Diarmuid to close the door. He followed David to his kitchen, oppositely placed from his own yet still so similar. The layout may have felt the same, but the decor certainly wasn’t. Besides a beat-up armchair with a standing lamp and portable radio on the floor next to it, there was nothing else in the living room. The kitchen was just as sadly bare. It had a tiny dining table but only one metal folding chair along with it. There was a black hoodie draped over the back of the chair and a folded black shirt sat on top the table.

“Were you…going somewhere?”

“Yes, in about an hour.”

“I wanted to talk…”

“I figured,” David said, leaning back against the countertop.

His hands rested on the counter and the expansive muscles across his chest flexed. There were scars, so many it was frightening to imagine what David could have been through to receive them. Some were long shallow cuts, crisscrossing over his chest and biceps. Some were painful shades of red and purple, like the angry circular spot under his left collarbone, which could have been a gunshot wound or something else just as terrible. No wonder a few blisters on his hands had felt like nothing. It hurt Diarmuid’s heart to think about how much pain was detailed on David’s skin, a vivid portrait of scar work that told a thousand words.

Diarmuid forced himself not to stare and to get to the point. Like ripping off a bandage.

“I’m sorry about the other night. I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to kiss you.”

“It wasn’t a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Why did you lie to me about your uncle?”

 _Oh_. That had been another can of worms entirely from the one Diarmuid had been prepared for, although he had known he would have to tell David eventually. 

“I didn’t mean to hide it for so long. At first, I said it because I thought it would be safer. You know, inviting a stranger inside and telling them just how alone you are isn’t the best idea. And I swear I was going to tell you soon. I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“I’m sorry,” David said, surprising him. “I’m sorry for your loss, really. I know what that’s like, losing everyone you love and having nothing left.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Diarmuid’s eyes and his throat felt tight and hot.

“We don’t have to have nothing… We could have each other…” he tried, but the silence from David was painfully disappointing. He dropped his head and stood as still as a statue, and that alone felt like it could break Diarmuid’s heart into a million pieces.

Then David shook his head, looking up. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“And I don’t want you to leave me again. Please.” He knew it was a cheap move, but it was the honest truth. “I think we need each other. I know that I need you…”

David pushed off from the counter. He stepped over to Diarmuid, getting close in his space, and Diarmuid had to take a deep, shaky breath to calm himself down when David reached up and cupped the sides of his face. He dared to put his own hands on David’s sides where hot skin stretched over the sharp lines of muscles underneath. His torso was huge. _Shit_ , everything about him was huge.

“Need you, too,” David said. His deep voice was rough and the sound of it crackled down Diarmuid’s spine like electricity. David brought his face close to his, sweet and lazy-like as he brushed their noses together, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” he begged.

David stroked his thumb across his cheek and held him still, bringing their lips together again so gently Diarmuid could fully cherish every second of it this time. It was soft and tender until David gave a tiny nip to his bottom lip and surprised him into opening up so he could snake his tongue inside and tease Diarmuid’s.

He suddenly worried that his inexperience would show. David had been his first kiss the other night and while he liked to consider himself a fast learner, he had no idea how to tell if he was doing a good job. He tried to match the cadence David set, a choreography of timed kisses, breaths, and blissful stretches in between when David took his time exploring his mouth.

He stroked his hands up and down David’s sides and David moaned into his mouth, breaking their kiss to suck in a gasp. He tilted his head the other way and sealed his lips to his again with a new palpable hunger.

The kiss was even better than the last one, and Diarmuid pressed himself against David as much as he could. He was solid and unmovable, grounding in a way that Diarmuid needed when he was such a delirious combination of excited, afraid, and _desperate_ which threatened to shake him apart. Yet David dropped his hands to wrap them around Diarmuid’s back, grasping him tightly and keeping pressed against him, like a life raft in the middle of a sea storm.

Here, he was safe.

David bent and scooped him up, firm grip on his ass, and he scrambled to grab his shoulders and wrap his legs around his waist. David had a great hold of him though and when he kissed him again, Diarmuid moaned into it. 

David began moving them out of the kitchen and Diarmuid was impressed with his ability to multitask, kissing teasing little pecks on his lips along the way. He brought them through a doorway into a dark room. He had no clue where they were until David placed him down on a bed, a brief flash of panic until he landed on the firm mattress beneath him. David flicked on a small lamp sitting on a beat-up nightstand and Diarmuid got a look at his bedroom.

He should have known it would have been just as barren as the rest of David’s apartment, but he was surprised to see that there was a narrow bookcase nearby, with quite a few books on the shelves. Herman Melville’s _Moby Dick_ was on the nightstand, a matchbook bookmark peeking out of the pages.

David climbed onto the bed and laid down over him, pressing a knee between his legs and nudging them apart. He pressed his hips down against Diarmuid’s and he sucked in a gasp at the wonderful pressure, tipping his head back into David’s pillow.

David took the opportunity to lean down and kiss the side of his neck. He sucked onto the spot below his ear, and Diarmuid’s cock flexed in his jeans. He whimpered, clinging to David’s shoulders and stroking the back of his neck to urge him on. He was so incredibly sensitive there and David took advantage of this new knowledge by alternating between biting and licking the slope of his neck like he had all night. Diarmuid ran his hands through David’s hair, the strands still damp between his fingers.

He got down to Diarmuid’s clavicle, trying to tug the collar of his t-shirt out of the way before giving up and reaching down to start pulling his shirt off. Diarmuid lifted his arms and David got rid of it quickly. He tossed it off to the side and out of mind.

“Tell me to stop if I go too far,” David growled, this voice was thick and raspy. He reached down for the button on Diarmuid’s jeans, popping it open and ripping down the fly.

“Okay, yeah,” he gasped, his throat completely dry as he watched David’s hands work. He was tugging at his jeans and Diarmuid lifted his hips off the sheets to help. David got them down mid-thigh, boxers and all, and Diarmuid’s heart was pounding in his chest as his flushed cock slapped onto his stomach.

He couldn’t imagine what David saw when he looked at him, but at least he seemed to enjoy the view. A deep groan rumbled out his chest and he propped his elbows on either side of Diarmuid’s arms to dip down and latch his mouth onto his right nipple.

“ _Oh shit_ ,” he gasped, his arms flying up to grab onto David’s shoulders, not pushing him away, but holding on while David continued to suck and tease with his expertly skilled mouth. His beard scraped around his nipple, making the skin around it tingle and burn like his mouth was now after so many kisses. 

David wove a hand between them, and his fist wrapped around Diarmuid’s cock. His whole body melted into the feeling of David’s searing hot palm as he started to pump his hand along his length. David flicked his tongue with quick little flutters, making Diarmuid’s prick twitch in his fist and heat flood into his stomach.

“Oh my god,” he whimpered. He dug his fingers into David’s shoulders with a weak moan as David gave a teasing bite before letting the hard bud go.

“You look so damn pretty, baby,” David growled. His hot breath ran over Diarmuid’s wet nipple and made him shiver.

“I’m yours. Yours. Whatever you want.”

“Jesus, _fuck_ ,” David groaned. He pulled his hand away, causing Diarmuid to make a pitiful sound he didn’t mean to at the loss.

He got up on his knees and ripped the button of his jeans open, wasting no time unzipping his fly and pulling out his cock. He was stiff and shiny at the tip, the skin a deep pink hue that contrasted the tanned skin of his hand as he worked his fist for a couple of pulls.

Diarmuid gulped, unable to pull his eyes away from David’s cock in his hand. Like the rest of him, his dick was an impressive size and formidable. He could imagine the way his hand would look wrapped around it, small and dainty compared to the size of him.

David laid back down and aligned their hips so he could wrap a hand around both of their cocks together. He squeezed their lengths together, and Diarmuid could feel the way that David’s cock flexed against his own a second after his did, like an echo of pleasure that felt a thousand times better than jerking off alone did.

“Please, _please_ , don’t stop,” he begged. 

The last thing that David did was stop. He kept the same urgent pace of his hand, all the while gently nuzzling along the slope of Diarmuid’s neck, up behind his ear, and against his nose between brief, desperate pecks of their lips between heavy breaths.

“I’m really close,” Diarmuid warned, panting the words out. He couldn’t catch enough air between the overwhelming sensations, and the combination of pleasure and lack of oxygen was making his head spin. David kissed his lips, picking up the pace of his fist, and Diarmuid scrunched his eyes closed.

“Oh shit, David, _please_ ,” he said, too far gone to worry about rushing to the end too soon. He wanted David to bring them both there, to let him do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop _touching_ him.

“Come for me, baby,” David urged. “Come on, sweetheart.”

 _Damn_ , didn’t that sound lovely? All he could do was hang onto David’s shoulders for dear life and let him take him there.

David’s fist was relentless. It was too good, too fast, and his orgasm built all the way from his toes, up his legs, and exploded through his core as he bucked hard against David’s body above him, which pinned him down while his whole world shook apart for a few breathtaking seconds.

David followed soon after him, though he continued to stroke them both all way through his orgasm, milking every drop of cum until it dripped down onto Diarmuid’s stomach with the rest of the mess. The last few tugs of his fist sent lingering bolt of pleasure up through Diarmuid’s spine and made him whimper at the over-simulation. 

“Hold on,” David whispered. He leaned over and grabbed a few tissues from the box on the nightstand. He was meticulous and gentle as he wiped them both clean, but his touch still made Diarmuid’s sensitive skin tingle and goosebumps pop onto his skin.

David tossed the tissues off towards a trash bucket and laid himself back over him, helping to infuse his warmth back into him. He stroked the side of Diarmuid’s face before cupping the side of his neck in a warm grip. There was a heavy frown on his face.

“I really do have to leave,” he said.

“What’s wrong?”

“…I can’t change who I am.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“There’s something that I have to do tonight. There are some people that are going to do something bad.”

“Are you coming back?” he asked. His heart leapt into his throat, terrified that the answer was no.

David nodded though. “I plan on it.”

“Are you going to kill them?”

David averted his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “If I have to. If they’re going to kill other people.”

If David thought that was going to scare him away, he was wrong. He figured he had killed before. He had fought as a Marine for sixteen years, it wouldn’t be surprising, and he remembered David telling him on the couch that he was also dangerous. He was a soldier, a human trained to be a living weapon that the military could point at their enemies. Yet, there was nothing evil in David. Not at all. His heart was full of love and tenderness. He didn’t want to see Diarmuid get hurt. He didn’t want to see anyone get hurt, and he wanted to protect those that needed it.

“Please, just come back to me.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Then promise me you’ll try. You can promise me that.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I promise.”

“Thank you.”

David kissed him again, the soft click of their lips parting deafening in the silence.

“I’m going to wash up,” Diarmuid said.

“All right. The bathroom’s down the hall.” David got up from the bed and gave him a hand standing up.

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” he said, pulling his pants up and giving David a smile when he caught him staring. He snagged his shirt off the floor and left him to tidy himself up.

When he got out the bathroom, David was in the kitchen. He slipped the black t-shirt on over his head, giving Diarmuid one last good look at his chiseled abs flexing before he tugged the shirt down. He picked up a pistol off the table and tucked it behind his back in the waistband of his jeans. Where in the world had that been? Were there more around here? The dark steel piece disappeared as David threw on his black sweatshirt and new fear bloomed in Diarmuid’s chest.

David turned and caught sight of him, walking over as he adjusted the jacket.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said.

Diarmuid stepped up to him and wrapped his arms around his back, pressing his face into his chest as he hugged him. “Can I wait for you here?”

“Sure, you can,” David said. He placed a kiss on the top of Diarmuid’s head and put a hand under his chin to tilt his face up, placing another sweet kiss on his lips.

“Can’t you tell me where you’re going?” he whispered.

“I’ll explain when I get back.”

“Please be safe.”

“Lock the door behind me, and don’t open it for anyone else besides me.”

“Okay.”

David gave him one last kiss and pulled away. It was real damn hard to let him go, but he knew he was just going to have to trust him.


	10. Chapter 10

It wasn’t too hard to look up where the shelter was in Park Slope. The front entrance was on 6th, and sure enough there was a tiny barred-up pawnshop next door. On 7th, there was a three-story building, an office space with a list of tax associates on the front, and it was just as easy to find a fire escape in the alley beside it. Perched on the roof, he had the perfect vantage point to watch down into the small lot behind the shelter as the last of the sunset’s glow faded from the sky and the stars came out through flat black clouds.

The lot behind the shelter was average and not too much to look at. There was enough room for a few cars to park, probably for the employees, and enough space for a truck to back down the alley and line up at a cement loading dock by the back entrance. There were two spotlights out there, one pointed at the metal door and the other out toward the cars. He spied two mounted security cameras on the brick wall as well. They were pretty low quality to be honest, and they pointed at the back door and the sliding loading dock doors.

It had been awhile since he’d last done a stake-out. The more information on the enemy, the better. Joey had mentioned having a way inside, and he was going to learn just what that was. The only problem was that there was an ample amount of waiting during a stake-out, and that left David a _long_ time with his thoughts.

It was impossible not to think about Diarmuid. There was no denying it now. He was honestly, wholeheartedly, and completely _fucked_ now. After what happened earlier, he knew he needed Diarmuid—needed to keep him safe, in his arms, and happy like he deserved to be. If David made him happy, then that should have been the end of it.

Yet, there was still this side of him. Diarmuid hadn’t stopped him from going however, which he hadn’t been expecting. Could David ever really give up this life for a peaceful one? Could that even be a possibility for him anymore?

While the evening seemed quiet and uneventful for the most part, every now and then there’d be some activity below. He had first gotten here just about nine, and by nine-thirty people began to drift out the back door and down the stairs to their cars. Two young women, maybe in their mid-twenties, came out together and were chatting away happily. They were wearing matching outfits, a uniform of khaki-colored slacks and red polo shirts, and they got into the same car. David heard a peal of laughter from the brunette one as she slid into the passenger seat and closed the door, the sound of her laugh echoing up through the alley.

It was closer to eleven when he watched one man, and then another a few minutes after him, leave through the same door. These men were dressed in dark gray security uniforms. They had thick belts adorned with batons and handcuffs that jangled against their backs as they walked. Not police, but private security. He didn’t see a gun holster on either of them.

How many guards were still in there? If he had known about Lance’s plans a week ago, he would have had more time to stake out the place and prepare, but he’d make do. All he had to do was make sure that Lance and his goons were caught in the act without anyone else getting hurt. It’d be pointless to stop them out here in the lot before they could be proven guilty.

This was going to be their last hit.

It wasn’t until five past midnight when something finally interesting happened. Suddenly both spotlights flickered out at the same time, the incessant hum of their incandescent bulbs fading away. It was dark, but not impossible to see still. The metal door clanked open and he could make out the shape of a man stepping out onto the loading dock.

The man didn’t let the door close behind him. He turned around and held it propped open. His back was to David, but he had a feeling he knew what the man was doing as he took a suspiciously long moment holding the door before finally easing it closed. It clicked shut and he looked around the empty lot.

He then stepped over and stood up on his toes, reaching up toward the security camera. He tilted the camera up, the lens pointing to the sky, and then did the same for the camera pointed at the loading doors.

Ah huh. There he was. This had to be Joey’s cousin who was their way in. Once he was done fiddling with the cameras, he took the stairs down from the loading dock and went over to a rusty Honda, the second to last car still in the lot. The car rumbled to a start and the guy left his headlights off until he got to the end of the alley and pulled out onto the street. Guess he wasn’t staying for the hit.

Too bad.

Lance’s guys had to be on their way. David took the fire escape down and crossed through the dark lot towards the back door. There was just a blue Volvo still parked by a dumpster in the corner. The third shift was certainly less staffed. Dangerously so.

He climbed the stairs and got to the door, taking a pair of leather gloves out of his sweatshirt pocket and placing them on. He reached for the handle and wasn’t surprised to find that it turned easily, the door swinging open without a sound. He leaned down and dug a finger into the slot of the locking mechanism in the door frame. Sure enough, he pulled out a wad of folded paper, just the right size to keep the automatic lock from being able to click into place. This building was too outdated if a simple trick that like could still work. He stuffed the paper back in and slipped inside the door.

The main lights were off in the room he found himself in, a kitchen of sorts perhaps, but there was a small glow from a digital clock above a line of deep-bottomed sinks. The kitchen was huge, rows of metal standing shelves by the entrance packed full of canned goods and bottled water. He slipped through them, checking each one, and saw a door across the room next to a row of ancient ovens with metal burner stoves on top.

The door led out to a long, narrow hall. There was a light all the way at the end, but David caught sight of a closed door halfway down with a glowing keypad mounted on the wall near the door. He inched his way down and got a closer look at the pad. It was a basic electric lock with a numeric keypad lock. He had no clue what the code was, but he guessed Joey’s cousin had that much info for them. Unless they were planning on blasting through the wall, which was ridiculous. 

There was a bend at the end of the hall, and he crept toward it, but slinked back behind the corner when he caught a glimpse of a security desk. There was an older man sitting there, his dark hair well past salt and pepper, and he had a small radio on the desktop playing classical rock. Beyond the desk sounded quiet. At this hour people were probably trying to sleep in their cots instead of the sidewalk tonight.

He made his way silently down the hall and right before he reached the kitchen door again, he saw a portrait hanging in the hallway. He walked right up to it and there was just enough light to make out the details.

The man smiling in the huge framed picture was none other than Diarmuid’s uncle Ciarán. There was a bronze plaque underneath the photo reading _‘For his endless kindness and eternal devotion to those lost in the world, we honor our dearest friend CIARÁN with all our hearts. 1949-2020’_.

That’s what the world needed more of. If it were full of people that extended kindness without a second thought like Diarmuid and Ciarán then the whole world would be in a better place.

He made a vow then, to promise this man to take care of the one person lost the most in the world after his death. It was the least he could do.

There was little time to waste tonight though, and he pushed his way back through the kitchen door. He grabbed the rusty oven by the door and heaved it until it was propped in front of the kitchen door. The last thing he wanted was the security guard to get caught up in what he had planned.

With that done, he crossed the room to the back entrance and suddenly heard car tires squealing in the back alley. It was brief but striking through the silence. David tucked himself against a shelf cram packed with boxed Kraft dinner and waited with his ears perked.

Asphalt crunched under tires and he could just catch the sound of car doors opening and closing. People were coming. He itched away from the door and tucked himself behind the very last line of shelves. There was a small gap where the end of the shelf didn’t quite meet a massive refrigerator and he slipped himself right in.

After a long minute, he watched the back door open, spilling a little more light from outside into the barely lit kitchen.

“Where the fuck are we going?”

“Shut the fuck up. Do you want to get fucking caught?”

“I can hardly see where I’m going.”

“Just keep moving forward and let me go first. The stash is down the hall and I’ve got the code.”

David could make out the dark shapes of their silhouettes through the gaps in the shelves. There were three of them, Lance, Joey, and Rico by the sounds of their voices, but it was hard to see their faces though. It looked like they had ski masks on, but he could see the outlines of the AK-47s in their arms as they banged around in the entrance.

It was disgusting—these hood rat fools who had no clue what they were doing, untrained, unskilled, but heavily armed. Of course, any schmuck on the street around here could buy whatever gun they wanted for the right price, but that made it all too easy for pieces of shit like these guys to come in and mow down people for some goddamn drug money. Never mind the other innocent people that would suffer from this place losing all its prescription drugs.

There was a clean cast iron pan hanging on the wall by the refrigerator, and David lifted it off the hook without letting it bang the other pans next to it and silently stepped out from his hiding spot. He still had his pistol tucked away against his back, but it would only be his last resort.

“The door is supposed to be right this way,” Lance said, in the lead.

Joey shook his head, right behind him. “Where? I don’t fucking see it.”

David slinked closer, still hidden to Rico on the end as all three of them passed the last row of shelves.

“Something’s in the way.”

“What?”

David stepped out and swung the pan through the air. It collided with the side of Rico’s head with a terrific ringing, metallic sound. Rico fell to the left, bouncing off the wall and collapsing with a strangled yelp.

“Rico?! What the fuck?!”

“There’s an extra guard!” Lance yelled. “Fucking shoot him!”

David dropped to the ground and the sound of gunfire erupted in the silence. It was deafening as both guns went off, an explosive _rat-tat-tat-tat_ that hurt his ears and made them ring. Bullets sprayed in the dark, bright bursts of light illuminating the room briefly. Some of the shots embedded into the walls, chunks of brick spraying out in clouds of grit, and the others ricocheted off appliances. White hot pain flared out on David’s left shoulder and he hissed at the burning, wet heat of blood soaking into this shirt. It hurt like a bitch, but the bullet hadn’t truly hit him. The pain would have been much, much worse if it had, that much he knew, but he still had been grazed and he had to end this quickly before it got worse.

“Did you fucking get him?” Lance shouted.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Dammit, my gun’s jammed.”

“Fix it!”

“Who’s in there?!” a man shouted outside the kitchen, probably the security guard. There was a rattle and small bang as he tried to open the kitchen door to no avail.

David stayed low and snuck around the corner of shelves. With the cast iron still in hand, he swung it with all he had at Joey’s legs. There was a sickening crunch as it hit his knee and he screamed out, slamming down on his good knee and dropping his gun to grab his injured leg. It left him perfectly vulnerable, and David used the handle of the pan to bash the back of his head and knock him out clean as well.

“Joey!” Lance screamed, desperately trying to unjam his rifle. His hands shook and he started to back up as if he had someplace to hide. David got to his feet and Lance gasped at the sight of his silhouette rising from the ground.

“I’m calling the police!” the guard yelled. Good. At least David wouldn’t have to do it now.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Lance growled. He threw his whole body at David and they both went flying back, landing on the floor in a flailing heap of limbs, the cast iron pan flying back behind him. Lance threw a punch and it collided right in the center of David’s chest, knocking the wind out of him, but he couldn’t let him get the upper hand.

They grappled, yet David had years of fighting on his side. He almost had Lance pinned underneath him when Lance got a lucky shot and nailed an elbow down onto David’s shoulder, right where it was still burning and radiating pain from the gunshot.

“Get the fuck off!” Lanced kicked wildly and his boot slammed David’s left arm against the edge of a cabinet. An amazing burst of pain shot up his forearm and screamed in his head, but he used the shock of it to throw everything he had into a right hook with a powerful roar. It connected with Lance’s head and his skull bounced against the floor, his whole body going limp underneath David.

He climbed off him and got to his feet, the adrenaline making his legs feel shaky now that it was over. His whole arm throbbed, and he held it to his chest, reminding him that he was bleeding and his DNA had to be all over the place by now. It would only be a matter of time before the police—and probably the FBI—would come looking for him. He needed to get the fuck out of there, and ASAP.

He stepped over the unconscious bodies and ducked out the back door. The night air was refreshing compared to the gun smoke in the kitchen. He hoofed it down the alley and by the time he got to the end of the block and was turning around the corner onto 9th, he heard the police sirens blaring up the street on their way.


	11. Chapter 11

At first Diarmuid wandered about the few rooms of the apartment, but there really wasn’t a whole lot to look at in the living room or kitchen. He drifted back to David’s bedroom. The sight of the rumpled sheets made a furious blush rise to his cheeks, but he liked the giddy feeling bubbling in his chest.

He walked over to the bed and ran his fingers over the wrinkled sheets. Without thinking why, he sat down on the bed and lowered himself down. He kicked off his sneakers and laid his head down on the pillow.

The whole bed smelled like the soap David used and the heated scent of his skin. Diarmuid placed a hand on his chest and took a shaky breath. His mind was still reeling and his whole body felt warm, but in a good way. His thoughts wandered, replaying snippets of earlier.

David’s hands cupping his face, his lips folding together with Diarmuid’s perfectly with a hint of tingly prickle from his beard… The press of David’s body against his, encompassing and desperate for touch just like his own… The feeling of David’s panting breath skirting across Diarmuid’s sweaty neck as they both gasped through the aftershocks of their orgasms…

 _God_ , he already missed David so much. Where in the world was he?

_And is he going to use that gun?_

Diarmuid didn’t want anyone to get hurt, but he trusted David. Some part, deep down in him, had trusted David that very first night he invited him over and cleaned his hands. Maybe it was just his imagination projecting his own desire to take care of David—to break down those walls he had bricked himself behind and to get to know that strangely kind and tender man he turned out to be—that made him believe that David wasn’t a threat. Then that evening in the alley, where David had been like his guardian angel, he became dead certain that his gut had been right.

They just both wanted to see each other safe. He couldn’t do it in the same physical way that David could with his strength and training, but he could do it in his own way. They could look out for each other, and he didn’t want it any other way. 

The realization only made him miss David that much more.

He closed his eyes and his whole body felt like it was melting into the mattress. He was tired, but could he really sleep? The seconds ticked by. One…then two…then three. Was he at thirty-four or thirty-five? He lost his place and couldn’t remember.

He sat up and his head spun, his eyelids incredibly heavy. He glazed over at David’s bedside table and the alarm clock read one-seventeen am.

 _Oh_. Apparently, he had dozed off after all.

He got up, stretching his arms above his head until his shoulders and neck cracked, and he shuffled over to David’s bookcase. There were shelves full of second-hand, dog-eared paperbacks. Titles like _Endymion_ by John Keats, _Great Expectations_ by Charles Dickens, and Dante’s _The Divine Comedy_. He was about to pull out Keats to see which poems David had bookmarked when he heard a knock at the door and nearly jumped out of his skin.

David was back.

***

By the time David got to his building and climbed the stairs, the pain in his arms had transformed from annoying to downright brutal. He kept it cradled to his chest and knocked on the door. Thankfully, it only took Diarmuid a few seconds to get to the door and slide open the deadbolts. The door swung open and Diarmuid took one look and gasped.

“What happened to you?!”

“Do I really look that bad?”

Diarmuid huffed in disbelief, his eyes wide and surprised. “Come in, come in. Let me look at you. What the hell happened?”

David sighed, locking the door behind him and following Diarmuid to the kitchen. Diarmuid pulled the folding chair out for him.

“There’s another one in the closet,” he offered, nodding his head behind Diarmuid. He got the chair out and placed it close to David’s. He leaned over and picked at the torn fabric on his shoulder where the bullet ripped through the cloth.

“Look at all this blood…”

“The cut’s not what I’m worried about. I think my arm’s a little banged up.”

“Broken?” Diarmuid gasped, looking at him.

“Not all the way I don’t think.”

“I’m going to have to cut your jacket off, and I definitely need to go grab my first aid kit.”

David nodded. “Get me the scissors in that drawer. I’ll get the jacket off and you can get the kit.”

“Okay, sure.” He snagged the scissors for him and hurried off to fetch supplies. 

David shrugged the right side of his jacket off and even that much movement made his arm protest. He laid it down on the top of his kitchen table to brace it against something stable and started to cut along the length of his sleeve. His forearm was swollen and the pressure from the scissor’s blade as he made his way up his arm made the throbbing ache that much worse. He could feel sweat breaking out on his brow once he reached his shoulder.

Diarmuid came back, carrying in his arms the kit, two rolls of bandages, and two long plastic boards. He gave David a worried look-over as he sat back down.

“Jesus, look at your arm.” There were blooms of deep purple bruises already forming, splotchy and sickeningly dark as blood pooled under the surface. “Can you move your fingers?” he asked, gently reaching for David’s hand and massaging the fingers.

He forced the muscles to flex and groaned. “Yeah, but it hurts like a son of a bitch.”

Diarmuid brought his hands higher, pressing the sides of his forearm ever-so-softly as he touched around the bruises. There was one spot in particular that shot a bolt of pain up David’s arm again and Diarmuid finally pulled his hands away.

“I think you have a greenstick fracture, which would be lucky.”

“Will it heal on its own?”

“If we get it set in place and you don’t get an infection, sure. You should take some aspirin first. It won’t do much for what I’m about to do, but it’ll help later.”

“It’s all right.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said. He shook his head and picked up the plastic boards. “You can always change your mind.”

“What are those?”

“These? They’re splint boards. I don’t have the stuff here to make a cast. You’ll have to go to the hospital for that.”

“No hospital.”

Diarmuid threw him a look, an eyebrow raised. “Why not?”

“If I got the stuff, could you make one yourself?”

“Maybe… I could try.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. This isn’t going to feel very nice.”

The splint boards were bright orange and Diarmuid placed one on the table and carefully lifted David’s arm onto it. He layered the other board on top of his arm and got the first bandage lined up perfectly with the boards near his wrist before he began to tie it. The pressure of the board on his arm had been bearable, but as soon as Diarmuid began to tighten the bandage, sharp pain flared up David’s arm, to his shoulder, and all the way up his neck. His hand burned and throbbed, big drumming bangs along with his heartbeat. The pain in his forearm was like being stabbed, deeply with something serrated, until the blade was hitting the bone.

“ _Sssshit_ ,” he hissed.

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine. Keep going,” he begged between gritted teeth. The sooner Diarmuid was done with the splint the better.

“All right. Take a deep breath in and let it out slowly,” he advised. He continued to wrap the bandage a few more times, working upward with uniform, excruciating diligence. He tied the ends off and he gave David a minute to catch his breath before he got the second strip and used it to secure the other end of the boards near his elbow.

As soon as he was done, David blew out a shaky breath and chuckled, half out of relief and half out of exhaustion.

“Jesus Christ. Maybe I will take that aspirin now.”

“That’s what I thought,” Diarmuid laughed. He reached for the bottle and shook three out for him, which he dry-swallowed without waiting for water. The splint took away that stabbing sensation but there was still a deep, radiating ache that wasn’t going anywhere soon.

“I should clean your shoulder now. Get it over with.” Diarmuid said, standing up so he could step close enough to see the gash.

“In a minute.” David wrapped his good arm around Diarmuid’s back and tugged him closer, pulling him down to sit on his lap. Diarmuid went willingly, if not a little surprised, but he was careful not to bump David’s hurt arm.

Diarmuid cupped David’s face, giving him an affectionate kiss that was far too short for his liking. He pulled back and his adorably sweet face was pinched with worry.

“Where did you go tonight? Who did this to you?”

David tightened his arm around Diarmuid’s back, making him wiggle closer. “I went down to the shelter in Park Slope.”

“What?”

“There were some men from the construction site, some low-life thugs. They were planning on nicking the medical supplies.”

“What happened? Are they dead?”

“They were breathing when I left them. The police were on the way. Everyone in the shelter is fine.”

Diarmuid sighed out the breath he had been holding. “Then why do you look so sad?” he whispered.

“I might have to lay low for a while. Go somewhere else.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“There’s a good chance I can never come back here.”

“Fine.”

He reached up and touched the side of Diarmuid’s face, pushing a wavy strand of hair out of the way and stroking his soft cheek.

“You would do that?”

“Yes. It doesn’t matter where we go. We’ll be able to make it work. Together.”

“Together?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Diarmuid said, a huge grin breaking out on his face. It was so very perfect and beautiful to see.

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone! I do have one last chapter left, a sexy little afterword, if you will. So stay tuned! <3


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for everyone who followed along! I apologize for the wait, but I was squeezing this into my writing schedule and finally had to get something done for my editor, but now I've finished this hot little epilogue to wrap things up. I hope you enjoy!

There was an ethereal peacefulness in gently waking up, well rested and knowing that there was nothing important waiting to be done, that just going back to sleep was another option because, why not? It was Sunday morning, and David took a deep breath and stretched his limbs out before finally opening his eyes.

Diarmuid’s head was laying on his chest. He kissed the crown of his head, tightening his arm around Diarmuid’s shoulder and tugging him closer. Diarmuid made a soft, sleepy sound, nuzzling his face into David’s chest before wiggling along the side of his body. He threw a leg over David’s and snuggled in.

“What time is it?” he mumbled.

“I don’t know. Morning.”

Diarmuid hummed, still waking up. David stroked his fingertips over Diarmuid’s pale shoulder. He traced light trails every which way and rejoiced in the sweet purr that snuck out of Diarmuid.

Sunlight poured in from the open blinds of the window over their bed. Sometimes when he first woke up, he still expected to see that shitty apartment in Red Hook. It would take some getting used to, but he certainly didn’t miss it.

Their new place had been so perfect it seemed to call out to them both the moment they saw the listing. Boston was different from New York, but at its core still felt like a familiar friend, and they had adjusted in almost no time. David had a new job at a shipping plant, which paid very well, as long as he didn’t question their sketchy hiring and kept his nose clean. Hiring illegals wasn’t any of his business anyways, but if he caught wind of more sinister things, he’d have to keep an ear out. It was just what he did, he couldn’t turn that part of him off.

Diarmuid had sent a couple of transfer applications and every school he applied to accepted him, which didn’t surprise David in the least. Diarmuid had the smarts, the dedication, and more willpower than he got credit for. He was going to go far one day, and David was happy to help him along the journey whatever way he could. He was content to be in the radiating bubble of happiness that Diarmuid gave off wherever he went, for whoever that needed it. Diarmuid was beautiful, and his heart was beautiful, and David was one for the fucking cause. Always would be. He would always be in Diarmuid’s corner, fighting for him. 

Diarmuid picked his head up and his hair was a sleepy mess. David reached over, his arm cemented in a plaster cast that Diarmuid had meticulously made for him, and he brushed a flop of hair out of his face with his fingers. 

“Good morning,” Diarmuid whispered. He gave David a soft smile that tugged at his heart in a way he thought he’d never get used to seeing.

“Come ‘ere,” he mumbled. He pulled Diarmuid closer until their lips met. It was unhurried and gentle. They had all day after all, and there was nowhere else that David would have rather been.

Diarmuid seemed to have other plans though. After a few minutes, he wiggled against David’s side and pulled back to change positions. He crawled over David, into his lap, and David propped some pillows behind his own back so he could lean against the headboard and be able to reach Diarmuid’s lips, which he made sure to kiss the moment Diarmuid was settled.

They were both still naked from last night, and the feeling of Diarmuid’s soft, warm skin against this own was sensuous and addictive. He craved that feeling, had missed it so goddamn badly he hadn’t realized how much so until Diarmuid had come into his life and reminded him exactly what he was missing.

“Can we go again?” Diarmuid asked, sounding so innocent regardless of what he was asking.

“You wanna?”

“Please.”

“Okay, sure. Just let me—”

“No, let _me_ ,” Diarmuid said. He reached over to the nightstand where the lube was still out from last night.

David shook his head, laughing. “I still have one good hand.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, pour me some, baby.”

He obliged and popped the cap to squeeze some onto his good hand for him. While Diarmuid reached to put the bottle back, David used the distraction to sneak his hand around Diarmuid’s back and wasted no time rubbing a slick finger over the tight furl of his hole.

He gasped, dropping the lube on the bed and clutching David’s uninjured shoulder for support. The stitches on the other on had just come out, but it wasn’t totally healed yet.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Diarmuid panted against his lips, not quite kissing him but terrifically close to it. David nudged the first finger inside him and kissed him through the shocked gasp he let out.

“Damn, baby. You’re still so tight.”

“ _Ungh_. Come on. I can take it,” he begged.

“Yeah, I bet you can.” David smiled, ever amused by Diarmuid’s fiery spirit when it came out. “But you’re going to indulge me for a little while.”

“You’re lucky I love you so much.”

David’s heart skipped a beat, like it did every time Diarmuid said those amazing words.

“Yeah. I really am.”

He kissed Diarmuid again and let his kisses wander down, across one side of his collarbone and then the other, savoring every desperate sound from Diarmuid when he did something with his fingers that he particularly enjoyed.

Diarmuid sucked in a gasp and twitched in his arms.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m ready.”

“Okay.”

Diarmuid pecked his lips and twisted a bit to reach back for David’s stiff cock and line it up to his hole. David just put his hands on Diarmuid’s hips to hang on as Diarmuid slowly—so _goddamn_ slowly—began to lower himself down. David held his breath as he slipped inside and started to sink in deeper, finally panting out a groan when Diarmuid inched all the way down onto his lap.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Diarmuid gasped, a rare, needy curse that made David’s spine tingle. Diarmuid pressed their lips together and clung to David’s shoulders while they kissed, his body beginning to relax into the feeling of David pressed so deeply inside.

He let Diarmuid control the pace, just admiring the view as Diarmuid took his time rocking gently in his lap. He kept his hold on Diarmuid’s hips, not pushing or tugging, but just rubbing his thumbs in circles on the bones there. That scary thinness that David had first seen in him was gone now—David had seen to that—and his Irish-pale skin was stunning to look at. Dots of rogue freckles were sprinkled on his shoulders and across his chest, and the blush spreading down his neck matched the rosy hue of his cock rubbing against David’s stomach.

But his face, _God_ his face, was too gorgeous not to watch. His eyelashes were fanned across his bright pink cheeks, and when he opened his eyes, the deep brown of his irises was blown black.

Seeing that look of bliss on Diarmuid’s face, captivated in unfiltered euphoria, was better than anything else. All he wanted was to see him happy. He loved him with his whole heart, and he would do anything for him.

When Diarmuid came, he made hardly a sound. He gasped, his chest heaving to catch enough air, which David admitted had gotten incredibly hot around them. His fingers squeezed the back of David’s neck and he went completely silent, curling in on himself until his forehead landed on David’s good shoulder. His thighs trembled as he tried to keep rocking through the waves of pleasure.

David grabbed his hips, stilling him for a second to help him catch his breath. He tipped his face into Diarmuid’s neck and kissed the sweaty skin behind his ear.

“You too,” Diarmuid panted.

“Hmm?”

“You too.” He picked his head up and kissed David on the lips, beginning to rock his hips again. His thighs were still quivering.

“ _Fuck_.”

“I love you,” Diarmuid whispered.

“I love you, too. So goddamn much.”

It wasn’t going to take much longer, not with the soft, little moans Diarmuid was sighing in the shell of his ear and the spot-on way he was grinding in his lap. David just tried to make sure he wasn’t digging his fingertips into Diarmuid’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, especially as his orgasm rushed toward him and whited out the rest of the world outside their bubble with a tremendous burst of pleasure.

Diarmuid kissed the side of David’s neck as he came back down, sounding just as out of breath as David himself felt. Diarmuid wove his fingers through David’s long hair and surprised him with a tiny chuckle.

“What?” he asked, looking over at Diarmuid who had a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Will you let me cut your hair?”

David laughed. “You want to?”

“Yeah,” Diarmuid. He was fully smiling now, and it was contagious.

“That’s not a terrible idea, but then I get to cut yours.”

“Maybe you should leave that up to me,” he retorted, lifting David’s left hand and kissing his knuckles where they peeked out of the end of his cast.

“I don’t need two hands,” he teased.

“You need two hands to do it _well_.”

“All right, all right. You win,” he said, chuckling. “After breakfast I’ll sit for you, if you promise to let me wash you in the shower.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Diarmuid let him wash him like he promised, only shooing him away when David lingered too long somewhere ticklish on purpose. He loved the peal of laughter he got each time though, and the shower took a little longer than it should have because of it. He finally showed him mercy, not only because he had one less hand to work with, but also because he knew the fate of his hair was soon to be in Diarmuid’s hands. Best to be on his good side.

“What do you want for breakfast?” he asked Diarmuid, the two of them dried, dressed, and walking down the hall to their kitchen.

“Oh, I don’t know. What do we have?”

“Let’s take a look,” he said, but hardly took a step into the kitchen when there was a knock on the front door. He whipped his head back toward Diarmuid behind him in the hall and he could see right on his face what Diarmuid was thinking. He was thinking it too.

“Don’t worry,” he assured. “I’ll go take a look.”

“Okay,” Diarmuid said, nodding his head like they both hadn’t felt that initial shock of panic.

“I promise. It’s all right.”

“Yeah, I know. I trust you.”

David stepped over and kissed Diarmuid’s forehead. He walked over to the front door across the kitchen and peeked through the peephole. 

He saw a young couple, no older than their late twenties, no doubt. The woman had pristine olive-colored skin, like perhaps she was Egyptian or some other Mediterranean heritage, David had no clue, and she was stunning with her on-point makeup and expensive, fashionable clothes from some boutique on Newbury Street most likely. The guy standing next to her seemed just as well tailored and put together. They looked like happy, healthy folk.

David unbolted the deadlocks and opened the door.

“Hello?”

“Good morning!” the woman chimed out. In her hands was a plate of croissants, still warm and steaming up the plastic wrap covering the plate. “We’re sorry to barge over first thing in the morning, but we wanted to come over and officially welcome our new neighbors! My name is Farrah, and this is my fiancé, Gabriel.”

“Hi,” added Gabriel. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hello,” David said. He shook both of their hands. “My name is Frank.” Diarmuid stepped up beside him in the doorway, a huge smile on his face. “Oh, and this is my boyfriend, Peter.”

“Hi! Nice to meet you.”

“Same,” said Farrah. “We brought over some freshly baked croissants for you two, and before you guess, it was Gabe who baked them, not me. I’m just a hazard in the kitchen.”

“But she makes a great taste-tester.”

“And we were hoping you guys would join us for dinner tonight! Let us welcome you to the neighborhood properly.”

David looked over at Diarmuid, who flashed him the most stunning, perfect grin.

“What do you think?” Diarmuid asked. There was a beautiful twinkle in his eyes, and it reminded David of hope. Of that happiness he wanted for Diarmuid more than anything else. 

“I think that we would love that.”

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone for reading, and to Nergizka for the prompt. If you enjoyed this story and wanted more, then trust me when I say that my novel "The Beauty Beneath" is right up your alley and hits all the same spots. It'll be available to pre-order in two weeks and you can read more about it and a short excerpt over on my website, averrigsly dot com.  
> ALSO! I have two other titles being released this year, and a FREE BOOK coming out in less than three weeks for anyone who subscribes to my newsletter over on my website. There are other books deals and authors to find, and you guys have been my biggest supporters so far, ever since I wrote my first Pilgrimage fic almost two years ago, so I owe so much to you guys and I want to pay it back.  
> Thanks again and much love,  
> Aver <3


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